


Handle With Care

by utlaginn



Series: What You Believe [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anxiety (undiagnosed), Beach Holidays, Bisexual!Noya (implied), Boys Kissing, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Family Drama, Family Fluff, Firsts, Friendship, Ghost Stories, Good-natured Teasing, Karaoke, Love, M/M, Piercings, Romance, Sexual Content, Slice of Life, Summer Vacation, Swearing, Underage Drinking, casual homophobia, surprisingly little beach volleyball
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 08:06:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 44,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7883278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/utlaginn/pseuds/utlaginn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Reputations changeable</i><br/><i>Situations tolerable</i><br/><i>But baby, you're adorable.</i> <br/><br/>Just before graduation, a somewhat reckless decision by Asahi lands Nishinoya an invite to the summer’s Azumane family reunion. Asahi suspects his family’s ulterior motives. Nishinoya is not deterred. The vacation allows the two of them to navigate their relationship--and more, to simply enjoy one another. Featuring best friend shenanigans, family and all that it entails, and days (and nights) on the beach.</p><p>ON HIATUS - but not abandoned</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Noya is an Enabler

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the HQ!! Summer 2016 Big Bang!
> 
> A huge thank-you to my beta, [rosytanaka](http://rosytanaka.tumblr.com), and my two artists, [artbychromo](http://artbychromo.tumblr.com) and [mademoisellemaple](http://mademoisellemaple.tumblr.com), whose work will be linked in the appropriate chapters. You all rock so very much.
> 
> Title comes from [“Handle With Care”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L8s9dmuAKvU) by The Traveling Wilburys. (Jenny Lewis’ cover is my fave.)
> 
> (The titles for this series this story will be part of comes from [“Hold On to What You Believe”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7a9M0jIkjDg) by Mumford & Sons. I'm making a playlist…)

His phone case rattling like an unseen-to child, it takes a moment for Yuu to realize whose ringtone it is he’s hearing alongside the vibration. Rare, for a pop song to be blaring from his phone at 3pm on a Sunday. But once he remembers—it’s Asahi’s—Yuu is so eager to answer he forgets to enjoy the lyrics. 

(Ima Made Nando Mo by The Massmissile. He’d been a kid in the mid-2000s, so yes, he’d watched _Naruto_. And still has most of the soundtracks.)

“Asahi!”

“Hi,” is the simple answer. Simple, but Asahi’s is tone edged in a smile full of meaning. Yuu already feels himself buzzing pleasantly with it.

He’d set Asahi’s ringtone special, ages ago. Even before they’d become official. He usually can’t be bothered to answer his phone unless he knows who’s calling—and when it’s Asahi, he wants to know who’s calling. Partly for his own sake. Partly because he’d rather not let Asahi ramble on voicemail. 

But.

His buzz grates to a halt. Asahi texts far more often than he calls. He’s far more comfortable with the adaptability of text. And the extra time texting gives him to add resonance to his words—which his fellow third years are constantly mocking him for.

So Yuu braces himself, and asks, “What’s up?”

“Well.” Yuu can hear Asahi breathe, like he’s walking outside in the unseasonably cold late-March weather. “Would you be willing to go with me to a tattoo parlor?”

Having been ready for some kind of damage control, Yuu needs a long beat to let the question register. He can hear wind rush over the speaker in the background of the phone call. 

“I’m sorry, where?” he asks, confusion rendering his voice distant and polite. 

“N-not that I want a tattoo!” Asahi continues. Barely a sentence from each of them and Asahi already sounds like he wants to backpedal. Yuu can picture exactly how he’s shaking his head as he amends, “It’s just that I’ve heard that’s the best place to go for what I want. I should’ve said that first. I’m thinking about a piercing-” 

Yuu’s confusion—and interest—spike at that word. 

“…but I read that even though other places can be cheaper, you know the type of place where middle school girls go to get their ears pierced, they reuse the piercing guns and that’s not sanitary—and anyway it’s not a good idea to use a gun on cartilage…which is, er, what I want to do. Because it can shatter. Cartilage can. _Anyway_.” 

Asahi heaves a sigh and Yuu knows that he must be clutching the back of his neck, glancing around to see if any passersby have heard him rambling. The image makes Yuu smile a little. “I don’t know why I said I was thinking about it; I want to do it, but I’m just not sure if I’ll talk myself out of it on the way there or something, so…”

Yuu lets the steam run out on Asahi’s ramble before he replies. “When are we goin’?”

Asahi sounds startled. “Well, if you weren’t busy, I-”

Yuu springs away from his desk and starts pulling on a jacket, his eyes flicking to the window to take in the light dusting of snow outside. “Not even a little bit. Where’re you now?”

Asahi hesitates. “Um… I’m kind of walking to your house. Just got off at the train station. But that’s presumptuous, I shouldn’t have—are you sure you don’t have homework or something?”

Sure his grin is audible, Yuu says, “Asahi. You want me to be your enabler, and I’m literally always up for that. Homework or not.” 

Asahi’s own relieved smile pervades his tone as he says, “I thought you would be. Ah, but you said ‘or not,’ that makes me think you do have work to do-”

“I mean, a little,” Yuu continues, not wanting to lie—but also not about to let Asahi second-guess this call. He’s already heading down the stairs. “You could call Daichi-san or Suga-san, I guess, but I’ve heard all the college-bound kids are in a bitch of a study week.” 

“True…”

“Also.” He hits the bottom step and remembers that they’d all been pelted with a hard, cold rain on the walk home from practice yesterday. He wonders if his coat is dry. If it isn’t, he might just go without. He always runs warm. Anyway, after this afternoon, he’s sure he’s in for a temperature spike. “You called me first, not them. This is a privilege. Totally justifies putting off work.” 

“As much as I trust those two, I do trust you more with all of my questionable decisions.” Asahi gives a short pause. (During which Yuu decides he’s flattered, not insulted.) “Are you sure you’ll like it though?”

He turns around at the door, decides that his damp coat is not necessary, and shouts to his parents that he’s going out and will be back in an hour. Their answering approval echoes vaguely back at him. 

“Sorry. That I’ll like what? The shop?” he asks, shutting the door. 

“The piercing.”

Asahi’s deep, gentle voice is cautious around that word. Cradling it. It makes Yuu’s blood pressure shoot upward, and for a second he worries that the results of this outing are going to have serious health consequences.

Slowly, he says, “Asahi. I will definitely, unequivocally like it.” 

Asahi laughs. “Ah, big words—you must be excited.”

The “hmm” he gives in response cannot mask the slight growl that escapes the back of his throat. Yuu isn’t sure he intends it to. “Comin’ up the street?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” Asahi says, more softly. 

He debates staying on the line, but thumbs the blaring red “End Call” button and places the phone in his bag. That way, he can use both arms to run, and shorten their time apart.  
  
***

The shop is dark, narrow, crowded. More so than Yuu would have thought Asahi would prefer. But the clean, sterile scent is nothing short of hospital-like, and that was apparently the most important thing—according to Asahi’s research. 

(Because of course he did research. Even the decisions that were spur-of-the-moment by Asahi Standards were thoroughly mulled over by Normal People Standards. He might tease his giant teddybear of a boyfriend for that. But Yuu can’t deny that the caution sets light to another ember in the bonfire he’s always got crackling away where Asahi’s concerned. He’s warmed to Asahi’s careful nature—and to the way it makes Yuu feel a little more grounded, himself.)

“Hey, welcome!” says the girl at the counter. She’s tall, with a cute button nose and more metal in her face than Yuu has ever seen on one person. Her eyes dart over his hair—he’s used to that—as she says, “What’re ya here for?” 

“Oh, not me! This guy, actually…”

Yuu reaches back to Asahi, who is hesitating in the doorway, limbs pulled in close. But there is a definite spark of rebel fever behind Asahi’s wide brown eyes as Yuu pulls him by the forearm.  
It isn’t a complete front, when Asahi says he likes his “somewhat wild” appearance.

The shop girl smiles, all teeth. Yuu is both surprised and unfazed to see the flash of a ring literally between her teeth. She asks, “Why not both?”

Asahi must take Yuu’s silent wondering at that particular piercing—In her gums? He’s never seen that one before—for hesitation. Quietly, but with clear interest leaking into the question, Asahi asks, “Are you thinking of one, too?”

So as not to give him false hope, Yuu shakes his head definitively.

“I _have_ thought about it,” he corrects. “I’ve been tempted even. Always thought it was a bad idea for a player whose only job is defense, though.”

“Right, I guess the possibility of a ball to the face is deterrent enough. Gods forbid landing wrong and…”

“Yeah, yikes.”

Asahi nods and hums thoughtfully. “You didn’t look into those little plastic inserts?”

Yuu’s eyebrows shoot up. “You did do your research.” 

“Yo, boys, I know we’re slow right now but I’ve got a couple regulars coming in this evening and if you want to get this done…”

“Right, sorry!”

Asahi’s expressive face broadcasts his embarrassment as clear as TBC does the evening news—but the shop girl just smiles. Hand clasps to the back of his neck, Asahi obeys as she beckons him over to the counter to ask what he wants, and to get his signature on a release form. (She doesn’t ask for his ID. Yuu is jealous but not surprised.) The second Asahi lifts his pen, the shop girl ducks into a narrow office behind the counter. Over her shoulder, she says, “Be right back! Just gonna make you a copy.”

“Thank you,” Asahi says. Tapping the fingers of one hand on the glass counter repetitively, he returns to explaining. “The inserts are what I’m planning to use during volleyball, after it heals. Since our season’s over, I’ll have a few weeks in between now and starting at the vocational school.” 

A little pang goes through Yuu at the words “our season’s over”—they won’t be playing together anymore—but then he catches on the “few weeks” and the pang is forgotten. “Wait, are you seriously tellin’ me you’re not gonna practice during all that time?”

“I think I have to be officially registered to play, because it’s the school itself that’s affiliated with the community team…”

“So find a loophole!”

“As if it’s that easy??”

“It is.”

Asahi stops his restless tapping, huffing out a short breath and smiling down at Yuu. “Well when you put it that way.” 

“Geeze, Asahi,” Yuu mumbles. “Don’t let last year happen again. I’m not gonna be there to pick up your slack when you get lazy.” 

Asahi chuckles. “Per our agreement, that’s the last time this month you get to reference that argument.” 

“Yeah, yeah…”

The shop girl reappears, papers and a set of keys in hand. She chirps, “Follow me!” 

She leads the boys to a small station boxed in on three sides by low walls, each layered in art samples and photographs of some spectacularly complicated subdermal piercing arrangements. She unlocks a cabinet, all shining industrial chrome, and pulls out few necessities. As she sets up, Yuu sidles up to Asahi and peers at the papers crushed in his large grip.

“Where’d you say your piercing was gonna be?”

Asahi jumps a little, his eyes having been on the shop girl’s careful preparations. “I didn’t. Actually.” He glances down and meets Yuu’s eyes. “You didn’t even ask.” 

“Guess I didn’t think about it,” Yuu says, plucking the papers from Asahi’s hand and observing the little model of a head, where the tip of the right ear is circled in purple felt pen. “This’ll be nice. Would’ve been hot no matter where it it ended up, though.” 

Then he snaps his jaw shut and blinks hard, wishing he could shush himself in reverse. He isn’t all that concerned what people in public think about them—but Asahi is. And the shop girl is a stranger. A stranger who is now holding some kind of sharp instrument. Asahi grips Yuu’s shoulder, clearly afraid that the shop girl had overheard.

Not looking away from her work, she coos, “Aw, I got the feeling the two of you might be together. That’s so sweet of you to come with him.” 

She looks up and winks at Yuu. He feels his face go red—both at the compliment and at being called out. And kind of wants to press his fingertips, cold from the air inside the shop, to his face to hide the blush. But he doesn’t think the shop girl seems like the judgmental type. 

She continues, “Though, solidarity would be easier if you had one, too. Share the experience.” 

Yuu offers her a lopsided grin, relieved that his good character judgement is as solid as ever. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

She tisks. “Thought for sure I’d be able to convince you. Of the two, you seem like the wild one.” 

“Guilty as charged.”

She matches his smile, then turns to Asahi. He fidgets a little under her metallic gaze. 

“You sure this is what you want? What you wrote down?” Tilting her head at him, the shop girl holds a small, plain silver ring between two gloved fingers and the long piercing needle in the other gloved hand. “I can do it with a ring, but I’ll tell ya, you might want to start with a stud, ‘specially with all that hair.” 

Asahi’s eyes dart to the side in consideration. “That probably would be best, but to be honest… Ah, I don’t know if I could afford another piece when it came time to change it out.”

She loops the ring into the piercing device, then pats the padded chair with her other hand. “Have a seat. So you’re a student, huh? I get the expense thing. Only reason I don’t have more ink than I do.”

“I’ll be starting soon,” Asahi confirms, sliding into place. But he gives Yuu a quick, skeptical look at the ink comment that makes him want to laugh out loud. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep from offending the shop girl. 

“That’s fine. As long as you follow the aftercare instructions you’ll be okay.” She maneuvers expertly, one hand on Asahi’s forehead as she turns his head away from her. As if remembering something, she blinks and lets him go. “Oh, did you want me to mark it first? So you can check the placement?” 

“Whatever you think’s best,” he says softly, though he looks at Yuu as if in confirmation. “You’re the professional.” 

She laughs and turns his head again. “You’re such an easygoing dude…”

It doesn’t take long. Yuu watches as she uncaps another felt pen, the smell of it sharp as she marks the outside ridge of Asahi’s ear. Then she brings him a mirror, and Asahi nods in approval at the small dot. Once it’s done, she picks up the piercing needle again. Pinches the top of Asahi’s ear, hard. Asahi looks a little pale, but less nervous than on game days.

The little pang returns. There won’t be any more of those, at least for the two of them. Asahi’s graduation is this week, after all. 

“Ready?” the shop girl asks. 

Asahi breathes out. “Yes.” 

“Right then, one, two—there!”

He blinks. “Wow, that’s it?” 

“That’s it.” The shop girl smiles as she steps back to remove her gloves. The dusty scent of latex follows as she lobs them into the small bin under the counter. “Everyone thinks cartilage is so much worse than earlobes, but as long as you’re not a moron who thinks using a piercing gun on everything is a-okay, ’s not bad at all.” 

Yuu says, “Okay, if I ever change my mind, I’m comin’ back to you.” 

“Please do!” she says, making quick work of the cleanup. “Sure I can’t sell you on today?”

“No, sorry…”

Neither shop girl, nor Asahi, really need to know that he isn’t refusing merely out of concern for volleyball. Bleaching his hair has always felt like a suitably visible, but less extreme, modification. The permanency of ink and metal is attractive to his sense of counter-culture—but a little alarming to his sense of tradition. One his parents would be proud to know still exists.

“How does it feel?” he asks Asahi.

Sitting up slowly, he answers, “It’s more warm than anything else…”

“Stay seated for a second—I know you feel fine but I’ve had people pass out. Oh—I know you’ll want to, Azumane-san, but don’t touch it. Read the back of the form carefully, yeah? The aftercare instructions are pretty thorough but if you have any problems, please call!”

“I will,” Asahi answers.

But Yuu’s attention isn’t on the conversation, anymore. It’s on Asahi, whose hand is hovering by his ear, carefully not touching the flash of silver there. The space is just enough for him to see the result. Which does not disappoint.

When he meets Asahi’s gaze, he feels heat return to his face.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~_Obligatory authorial whining_ : This story is completely self-indulgent; it has little if any plot; I’ve probably got a bunch of stuff wrong about Japanese culture and landscape despite my research; there is too much smut, etc. ~~
> 
>  
> 
>  ~~Except.~~ It is fun to write about vacation, and about volleyball dorks in love and being cute with one another. So, I guess I won’t apologize. What I will do is place a warning before chapters where there is (not terribly graphic) smut in case that’s not what you’re here for. I consciously didn’t tag for underage; Asahi is 18, and Noya is 17, they’re 9 months apart, use your discretion. 
> 
> I encourage you to check out the rest of the collabs from this summer’s Big Bang! People have been working hard at them for months. :D
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


	2. In Which Asahi Is In Trouble

Asahi’s mother won’t let him in their front door.

He’s afraid he might die of embarrassment, taking the same train he’d been on not thirty minutes before, slinking past some of the very same security personnel—of course—and then slouching back toward the Nishinoya household in hopes of begging for a bed for the night. It’s the only place he can think of; he really doesn’t feel like explaining the situation to Daichi or Suga at this point, and he would prefer to have them all laugh about it together, later in the week when it actually seems funny.

The streetlights are almost all lit by the time he makes it back down the right street. Popping with cheerful orange light, one by one, as if to draw Asahi’s attention to each excruciating step he takes. And to the fact that it’s getting late and he hasn’t called ahead.

But, he thinks, there is a silver lining: the lack of knowledge on the part of Noya’s parents. Asahi’s mother is well aware that the place he’d probably run is his boyfriend; she’d said as much when she’d shrieked at his retreating back—actually _shrieked_ , until tonight he’d never heard her shriek in his life. Noya’s parents, meanwhile, will see only their son’s teammate at the threshold. Since he’d met them last August, during the spring tournament qualifiers, they’d been nothing but perfectly hospitable to him.

Anyway, he doesn’t think either of them will turn him away, when they’ve never seemed to take issue with their son’s alternative look.  

Several painful seconds after Asahi knocks, the door slides open and he gets a face full of bright yellow light.

“Azumane-kun!” is Shigeru-san cheerful greeting. Noya’s father looks a little surprised but smiles as he steps aside. “Were we expecting you? Come in, come in—have you had dinner?”

“I’m sorry to intrude. Ah, no, sir, I haven’t.”

“Oh, Azumane-kun!” Mariko-san, Noya’s mother, leans into the entrance hallway from the kitchen door. She’s got a ladle in one hand; her brown hair is frizzed around her temples, the barest traces of damp evidence of what must be a labor-intensive meal. Asahi’s guilt at showing up unannounced spikes upward. But, clearly happy to see him, she asks, “Have you eaten?”

“No, I haven’t had anything,” Asahi repeats. Despite the anxiety still coursing through him, he finds that he’s restraining a laugh at the Nishinoyas’ mirrored hospitality. “I’m alright, I don’t want to trouble you if you don’t have another place.”

“Nonsense, you’ll sit down with us!” Noya’s mother says, with precisely the same sharp tone Noya uses on him when he thinks Asahi’s being stubborn for no good reason. She looks down at her ladle, dripping an unidentified but delicious smelling sauce onto the wooden floor, and tucks her hand under it as she darts back into the kitchen.

Asahi tries to direct his gratitude after her, but she vanishes and he turns it to Shigeru-san, who pats Asahi’s arm in welcome. “Thank you. Sincerely.”

“It’s no trouble,” is the double answer, stereo in their varying tones of enthusiasm. Asahi does laugh, now, and duck his head down to hide it. Toeing off his shoes in line with the other pairs, he sees there are four today. Noya has two brothers, both older—away at university and postgraduate school respectively; one of them must be home for the spring holiday.

“Is it Ran-san or Hiro-san at home?”

Shigeru-san says, “That would be Ran. My oldest rarely comes home, anymore—too busy working his contacts in the city.” Though it’s worded to express maximum parental disappointment, the man still looks pleased as he leads Asahi further into the house. It’s not a bad thing to have an artist in the family when they’re successful, after all-

“Asahi!”   

Noya’s voice—even in his own house, he does not seem to possess an indoor version—cuts directly to him from the top of the stairs. Asahi looks up, and can’t help but think Noya looks like home embodied, standing there in an oversized t-shirt and pajama bottoms. And though he saw him just a couple hours ago, there is a certain incandescence to Noya’s expression that catches Asahi unawares, electric as he meets his eyes.

“Hi Nishinoya-kun,” Asahi says.

Noya’s face falls a bit at the formality. But he recovers. From the way he pads down the flight of steps on light feet, Asahi can tell that his ebullience only grows the closer he gets to Asahi.

Then he reaches his side. In a sly undertone, he says, “So I can guess exactly what happened.”

“Don’t start,” Asahi warns. He self-consciously tugs down a forelock over his right ear as his eyes light on Shigeru-san. The man is pulling himself out of the kitchen, where he had leaned in to speak to Noya’s mother.

“So, it’s a good thing your mother is incapable of cooking without counting on seconds for everyone,” Shigeru-san says. “There’s plenty.”

“Awesome, I’m starving!” Noya shouts.

“Well, maybe not enough for that.” Shigeru-san smiles, but he directs it at Asahi. “But Mama wouldn’t let one of your friends go hungry.”

Asahi smiles, warmed in the way only someone who hadn’t had a father growing up can be at how Noya’s father calls his wife “Mama.”

Not for the first time, as Shigeru-san retreats once again through the kitchen door, Asahi thinks that this man is certainly where Noya got all his coloring, all the range in the expressions he’s capable of, and all of his protective urges—but none of his height. The man is only six or seven centimeters shorter than Asahi himself, for all that he’s among the older of the parents Asahi knows and is showing substantial gray around the temples.

Noya’s mother, on the other hand, is every bit the tiny spitfire Noya is. After a moment of Noya’s insistent maneuvering to get a better look at Asahi’s piercing—“You don’t have to cover it up, they won’t care!”—Mariko-san’s voice drifts insistently from the dining room. “Everyone come sit down!”  
Another door slides open with a scrape and a clunk. Ran-san, Noya’s senior by eight years and a few centimeters, lopes down the hall. He doesn’t remove the stick of Pocky hanging from his mouth as he drawls, “Yo, Azumane-kun. Haven’t seen you in ages.”

He vanishes through the doorway to the dining room. Asahi hears Noya’s mother say, “Snacking! Where did you get that, you’ll ruin your appetite…”

“Okaa-san, I am an adult.”

“Don’t sass your mother, now…”

Noya laughs, breathily. Asahi can see he’s holding back. His brothers aren’t home all that often; and though they weren’t close as children, given the age gap, Asahi knows he cherishes any time he can spend with them, now. He definitely doesn’t want to interrupt it with pointless family bickering.  
Asahi can relate.

“Exactly why I don’t keep sweet stuff in the house,” Noya says, nodding toward the open doorway. “She’ll find anything with more than a gram of sugar in it and throw it away. How him and Hiro used to get away with it is one of life’s great mysteries.”

Asahi exhales his own laugh. “Good thing Sakanoshita is on your way home, then. No need to beg your brothers for their deep and mysterious knowledge of how to hide ice cream.”

As Asahi makes to head for the dining room, Noya stops him, reaching out and gripping Asahi’s forearm insistently. Noya isn’t usually physically demonstrative with him in front of his family. Asahi looks back, knowing there must be confusion and a little alarm in his eyes.

“You okay?” is all Noya asks.

Asahi blinks. In all the noise, he’d almost forgotten the reason he was here to begin with. “Oh. Yeah, it’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

He knows his tone becomes less convincing with each word. Noya narrows his eyes slightly. “Talk about it after dinner?”

Asahi nods.

After the noisy meal—and a borrowed pair of Ran-san’s pajamas, which are only slightly too small—the two of them sit down on the freshly laid-out futon to do just that. Noya had brought the other futon out of the linen closet for pretext, but they hadn’t bothered to roll it out.

Noya faces him, sitting cross-legged, elbows on his knees. “So you’re in capital T trouble with your mom?”  
Despite himself, Asahi has to laugh at the reference to The Music Man. “Exactly.”

(On more than one occasion, Noya had begged him: “You can never tell Ryuu that we watched a foreign language musical. Never. Even if it was awesome. Which I do not admit.”)

Now, Noya’s face is full of sympathy. Empathy, to be more accurate. “That sucks.”

Asahi tries to smile again, but feels the bubble of laughter deflate before it manages its way out. He folds his knees in front of himself, clasps his arms around them, sets his chin on them. He tops the fidgeting off with a sigh. “It does. She’s usually pretty poised—I’ve never see her react like that to anything I did before. This is probably the worst trouble I’ve ever been in with her. Not probably—definitely.”

Noya snorts out, “Really? Then I’d say you’re fine.”

This needles Asahi. He feels a little of the bitterness about his own quiet home life, so different than what he’s been allowed to partake in tonight, seep into his tone. “You don’t strike me as someone who got a ton of discipline growing up, Yuu, so I don’t expect you to relate.”

“Hey,” Noya grumbles. “What are you first namin’ me for, I’m tryin’ to help…”

Asahi doesn’t answer, trying to work through the knot of emotion in his throat—frustration, powerlessness to make his mother, or even Noya, understand.

But Noya must catch on to the fact that Asahi is at least half-serious. He only uses Noya’s first name when he’s lost all humor—or is particularly love-struck, in a given moment. So Noya defends as much as he tries to lighten the mood when he continues. “Not my fault Kaa-san and Tou-san’s attention was always on Hiro. Who by the way was way more of a handful than I ever was. Still is, to this day. But I guess most artistic types are.”

“I still won’t know if I believe any of that ’til I meet him,” Asahi mumbles.

Noya shrugs. “You’ll be blown away when you do. His hair’s worse than mine. Anyway you’re right. About the discipline thing. I mean, you were part of the worst trouble I ever got into with my folks, and that wasn’t ’til high school, so…”

The reference feels off, somehow. Asahi can tell that he looks ready to panic—damn his over-expressive face. And damn the helpless little groan he gives, part self-pity and part guilt.

But Noya puts out his hand quickly in denial, palm toward his stuttering boyfriend. “I meant the thing with the vice-principal. Nothin’ new. No gay panic in the Nishinoya house or anythin’ like that.”

Asahi relaxes, but only just. He sighs and scratches the back of his neck. “Oh.”

Noya shrugs. “Yeah.”

“I guess… We never really talked about that part of it, right? I mean… I never asked…”

He trails off. Raises an eyebrow. He is curious, after all. About Noya, who rarely seems accountable to anyone but himself, even with his high standards. Or perhaps because of them.

Embarrassment, but not hesitance, is written all over Noya’s face as he pokes his tongue out in consideration. “Well. You have no idea how bad it is havin’ to go home with that kind of correspondence for your parents. And I’m glad you won’t, believe me. My dad told my mom it would be better to go the more traditional route. But my mom is more, er, creative.” Now he grimaces, sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Honestly with how much time her insane list of chores took away from keepin’ in volleyball shape I think I would rather have taken the thrashing.”

Asahi feels himself blush from his chest all the way to the roots of his hair.

Noya sits back and crosses his arms. “But you know, for you, this is gonna be the worst of it.”

Partly to deflect how deeply he does not want to examine his reaction, Asahi prattles. “You mean the whole possibly being homeless thing? Yeah, I’d say that falls pretty squarely under the category of ‘the worst.’”

Noya flicks the fingers on one hand his hand as if that’s hardly worth considering. “Your mom’s the worst of it, and she’s gonna be fine—I meant at least you won’t have to deal with anything at school. What can they do, suspend you?”

Asahi looks up, about roll his eyes. But then sees an unwelcome scenario playing out behind them: not being allowed to attend the graduation ceremony, or god forbid, say goodbye to the rest of the team. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, biting at the dry skin as he unwillingly visualizes the gates shutting him out, clanging loudly in denial.

“…Can they, at this point…?”

The reaction is silence. When he finally looks down, Noya’s eyes are wide, a little too shocked for laughter.

“You are literally always ready to flee aren’t ya?”

“Wh-? No!”

As Asahi flails to his own defense, Noya reaches across the bedding and smacks him across the shoulder. He uses the momentum to shift both his legs so he’s closer to Asahi. “You know I’m just giving you shit, come on. Anyway if you’re going to start down the delinquent path it’s probably better if your instinct is to run. Get hit a lot less, that way.”

Asahi lets out a halfhearted snort, and subtly shifts a little closer to the center of the futon. “You’d know all about how not to get hit?”

“Does it look like this face-” a wide gesture at unmarred features “-has been in many fistfights? I did actually learn a couple things from all my brothers’ mistakes…”

Asahi nods sagely. “I see. Still, they must have rubbed off on your at least a little.”

Noya’s eyes narrow. “How’s that?”

“My reputation as a punk is totally without foundation. Yours at least is backed by some truth. Which must’ve gotten back to some of the parents—Okaa-san kept saying how you were a bad influence.”

“Wh- Hey that’s not fair; I just said I _don’t_ fight. Usually.” Noya clears his throat, as it he hadn’t meant to add that last bit. Asahi files that question away for later. Noya adds, “And I’m not the one with piercings.”

Raising one eyebrow, Asahi scans the highlights in his boyfriend’s hair.

Now Noya laughs. “Fine, between the two of us, I am the longer-standing bad influence.”

“Mmhm.” Asahi mumbles, and then extends a hand and weaves it into the strands of black and blond. Almost to himself, he says, “That. And I’m completely defenseless against wild little kouhai, and you use that to your advantage.”

Asahi almost doesn’t know how to counter the purr that Noya makes at this. But he watches as Noya’s eyes slide shut, and Asahi allows himself to tentatively raise his other hand. He runs that thumb over the highlights and tightens the grip of his other hand. Marginally, mindful of the texture of the product there. He wonders—not for the first time, as few of his wonderings are first-time wonderings—how it is that this movement affects Noya so thoroughly and not himself. With his pretense at a wild style, by rights it should have been Asahi who liked having his hair pulled.

Throwing all thought to the wind, he leans in and presses their lips together. Noya immediately rocks up to meet him, hands flying to Asahi’s shoulders.

After a moment—too short, Asahi thinks—Noya pulls back to look at him, drawing his fingers down Asahi’s jawline. Asahi doesn’t even have to ask what he’s looking at, it’s so blatant. He’s taking in the new flash of silver, which Asahi imagines is flickering like a candle-flame in the low light of Noya’s room.

Noya’s eyes are light brown, but with flecks of gold that Asahi usually doesn’t allow himself to examine too closely. Eye-contact being as intense as it is. But Asahi does look, when Noya is taking in something important. They’re inescapable: wide, pupils barely pinpricks, making room for all that golden light.

“ ’s really nice,” Noya says. It’s redundant; he is just as incapable as Asahi is at hiding every last emotion that hits him. “Seein’ you stand there in the doorway at sunset it was like, whoosh, romantic movie filter. You always look good, but damn.”

Asahi wants to say “thank you” or “you, too.” But he’s so lost he doesn’t say anything as he darts forward again. He hopes his hands cradling the back of his partner’s head say it for him.

But just as they’ve both gone breathless, Asahi’s phone goes off from his pocket.

“Sorry,” he says, though it’s barely a word.

He drags one hand down and leaves it on Noya’s hip as he settles himself against the futon. Noya follows suit, backing up a little to let Asahi dig around in his pocket. Asahi flips open his Nokia, flicking the little cat charm that Suga had gotten him for his birthday two years ago away from the screen.  
It’s a message from his mother.

>    
>  **From: Okaa-san, at 8:58pm**  
>  Invite Nishinoya-kun to our summer reunion. Now, before he makes plans for the year’s summer break. He’ll still be in school, I believe?

  
Noya, who is an adept at reading upside-down due to the necessity of looking at his friends’ notes so often, echoes him when he says, “Huh?”

They look at one another. Noya’s color is still high, but so is one eyebrow. “Would that really be okay with her? Scratch that, I don’t care—would that be okay with you?”

A few seconds later, Asahi’s phone buzzes in his hand. He tilts the screen so Noya can’t see it, a little afraid of what his mother might say next. 

>   
>  **From: Okaa-san, at 8:59pm**  
>  If you think you’ll still be seeing one another after you graduate, of course.

  
And he was right to do so. Asahi can feel the color drain from his own face. Clutching the phone, he snaps it shut and powers it off without looking at it.

“…Do I wanna know what else she said?”

Asahi shakes his head. “No. But if you come with us this summer and see her and my grandfather together, you’ll see the why of it all.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Noya says, without missing a beat.

Asahi can’t tell whether this response, soaked in sarcasm, is intended to cover up a questioning interest or not. But anger has always made Asahi brave. Maybe stupid, too. But still brave.  
So he goes for it.

“Good. I want you there.” Losing his nerve a little, he finds it again when he meets Noya’s eyes. The flash of gold is still there. “If you want to be.”

“Yeah.” Despite his evident surprise, Noya nods. “Definitely. I’ll have to ask the folks, but yeah.”

“Oh, of course. There’s no rush, I guess.”

Noya goes quiet for a moment. They both look down, Asahi picking absently at the bedding. Then Noya asks, “So do you wanna make out some more or is it time for Diablo?”

Sheepishly, placing his hand over his racing heart, Asahi asks, “Do you mind the video game?”

“Not at all!” Noya answers, rocketing toward the PS4 at the corner of his room. Asahi crawls toward the console more slowly, and headbutts his shoulder softly in gratitude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Please protect this child.  
> Also me: *creates all sorts of problems for this child*
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! You have no idea how much I appreciate every hit and kudos. :) And if you want come ramble with me about how adorable these boys are on Tumblr, [here's my side blog](http://utlaginn.tumblr.com) .


	3. In Which Noya Will Not Wait For It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s smut in this chapter and it’s vague, but if you want to skip it: 
> 
> Stop reading at: But so, it seems,  
> Control+F and read starting at: The second time  
> Stop at: Asahi’s bed is Western-style  
> Control+F to: “So,” Yuu asks

It’s very early, when they leave for school in the morning. The air is crisp and bright around them, the gloom from the last few days finally dissipated. But it’s freezing. Asahi’s hair, thick as it is, is still a little damp from his bath the night before. And it makes Yuu—who rarely cares about the temperature—cold just to look at him.

As he pulls the door closed behind them, Yuu asks, “Why did you want to leave so early?”

“I have to run to my locker to get my extra uniform. I’m just hoping we’re early enough that nobody will think anything, er… untoward, since I’m showing up without one.” 

Yuu laughs. “You keep an entire extra uniform in your locker?” 

“You don’t?”

“…Of course not?”

“Well what would you do if you spilled something on it? Or in a situation like this?” 

“I dunno, sneak in the window if my angry mom hadn’t left for work yet?” Yuu tosses his bag over his shoulder, and it settles comfortably against his back. “Hey, speaking of, you should come again for dinner tonight. Save you another nasty conversation.”

Asahi looks up at the sky, the sunrise limning his features in gold. “That might be best…”

The ease of the answer makes Yuu wish he hadn’t said anything. “If you want, I mean, maybe she’ll have calmed down by tonight.” 

“No, probably not.” 

Yuu watches him for a moment. Takes in how broad he looks in silhouette—and how unfair it seems that someone with all that bulk should waste it in retreat.

Then he remembers.

“Oh, but if you do come over, I can help you with the piercing aftercare stuff! You have that kit Shop Girl-san gave you, right?”

“I don’t need help with it,” Asahi mumbles.

“I know you don’t _need_ help,” Yuu answers. He hears it too late, that his mimicking of Asahi’s tone is a tad harsh. He sucks in a breath though his teeth— _gah, mistake_ , the air is damn cold. But he manages to smile on the exhale. “Let me help?”

Asahi confronts him with a flat stare. So Yuu softens.

“Please.” 

Asahi crumbles. And after that, he puts up a token fight but otherwise lets Yuu do as he likes.  
  
***  
  
For a full week, Yuu continues to invite Asahi to his parents’ house for dinner. 

(Well, a full week barring the evening of the third years’ graduation. He guesses he’d better let Daichi-san and Suga-san have him, that night. He hears through the formidable grapevine of boys’ sports club word-of-mouth that he guesses right—and that Asahi is not the only one of the third years who wakes up hungover.)

Asahi accepts about half of those nights. He doesn’t explain the why or why not. He doesn’t want to talk about what’s going on at home. That much, he does say—and Yuu can understand, even if he doesn’t like it. So he doesn’t pry. He’s just glad his own mom seems to like Asahi enough that she keeps preparing extra food. Whether she’d continue doing so if she knew that after dinner they were sharing a bed—just sharing, nothing else, but still—is up for debate. 

Either way, these invites are as much about saving Asahi from his moms’ wrath as they are about letting Yuu attend to the insufferably attractive addition to Asahi’s already insufferably attractive face.  
From that first day—when Asahi had met Yuu’s gaze from the bottom of the flight of stairs, one strand of his long hair falling over his face while another fell behind his ear, baring the flash of silver that echoed the flash in Asahi’s eyes—Yuu had known he was in trouble.

Not “mom kicking you out of the house for a night” trouble, but still.

It’s a simple routine. They both wash their hands. Yuu watches and then assists Asahi, as they stand over the sink, downstairs in the Nishinoya house. Asahi pours the solution onto a cotton-ball and hands it over to Yuu, whose mouth goes dry. He doesn’t help matters by poking his tongue out in concentration. The companionable silence becomes touch, becomes something he doesn’t have a word for. Salt water solution and cotton should not be so intimate. But the unfamiliar access to skin, the quiet moments of vulnerability, go a long way in reminding Yuu of one fact:

They’ve been pretty chaste since last August, all things considered. 

Asahi is still shy. Painfully so. He’s gained confidence, of course. Now, with Yuu himself and with the rest of the team, he gives as good as he gets in verbal matches. But he still holds himself to a smaller space than should be allowed. Or at least smaller than if if his physical size had governed his relationship to the world. Which it rarely does. It’s hardly a surprise that he keeps his hands to himself in most every aspect of life.

Hell, Asahi still point-blank refuses to address Yuu as anything other than “Nishinoya” in public. Yuu had coaxed him into using his nickname at least when they’re alone, explaining to Asahi with as much sincerity as he could muster that the formality of it put too much distance between them—even Shouyou had switched to calling him “Noya-san” after a few weeks of friendship. Asahi had understood with surprising ease. Still, Yuu wonders a little bit about the sense of loss lurking on the horizon. Once “Noya” is no longer a private nickname where Asahi is concerned. When everything’s out in the open, for real.

(He doesn’t question whether it will be, because of course it will. At some point. And he absolutely _does not_ wonder about the count-on-your-fingers number of times Asahi has called him “Yuu.” And how that’s still a thrill, every time. Even if Asahi does seem to be miffed whenever he uses it.)

Then there’s the fact that Yuu still has no clue how sex affects athletic performance. The early research he’d done online had only left him frustrated, fielding contradictions and storing up questions. So for the first few months, he hadn’t minded that they stuck to making out. Mostly. They’d slid at a snail’s pace to even that level, after Yuu’s clumsy confession last August. Hadn’t been that much time for anything more, anyway.

But now…

Now. Asahi is a high school graduate. He has a few weeks until his term at the vocational school begins. And Karasuno’s season will also be in a lull, at least until training for Inter-High goes full swing. The timing, at least, seems perfect.

For another thing, Asahi had told his mom about them. “My mom knows,” he had said one day, a couple months back, and it became established fact without much fuss. Yuu had never asked about that conversation, and after the piercing episode he _extra_ doesn’t plan on ever doing so.

And then there is the fact that Asahi had _invited him on a family trip for the summer_. A literal vacation together! If there was a better sign that Asahi was as serious as he was about the whole relationship thing, he didn’t have the experience to know what it might be. For less than a year together, it seemed like a big step.

The final straw is this:

It is Asahi—not Yuu—who ends up sending what is simultaneously the most awkward and the most sexually explicit text message Yuu has ever seen, let alone received.

It’s a Saturday, and his and Ryuu’s classes end at midday. They decide to take advantage of the matinee price on a new action movie they’d both wanted to see. Over text on the way there, he reiterates the dinner invitation to Asahi, so his ace will know he hasn’t forgotten. Just before the movie starts, Asahi texts that he’s looking forward to seeing him. Yuu can’t help but text back just once more.

 

> To: asahiiii<3, at 1:09pm  
>  What do you have to look forward? It’s me that has a tall, dark, and pierced ace to see tonight. :D

 

He doesn’t check his phone again until they’re leaving the movies. When he does, what he reads has his blood rushing so fast to inconvenient places that his head spins and he almost has to sit on the concrete. 

“Jesus, dude, are you okay?” Ryuu asks him. He sets a steadying hand on his back. 

Yuu surprises himself, flinching away from the contact. It surprises Ryuu, as well, who raises both hands palm-outward as if to apologize. Yuu shakes his head at his friend to let him know it’s nothing he did. Just, everything’s gone a degree too warm. Even the eyes of the strangers skirting them in the layered fashions of early-spring. 

Asahi’s prowess has always seemed to assert itself at the most crucial times. This is no exception.  
His Asahi bonfire burns bright as it ever has.

After what he knows is a long moment, Yuu says, “Yeah. I’m fine.” 

He isn’t sure he’s being totally honest. He has never had to think anything much about opening a text from his glass-hearted boyfriend in public. And while he’s definitely excited, he’s not exactly “fine.” 

Ryuu looks unconvinced. “If you’re sure.” 

“Yeah,” Yuu says again, slowly. Then he feels the grin creep across his face. “I dunno if Asahi’s gonna be fine when I text him back, though.”

Playing up his scandalized expression, his friend asks, “Trouble in paradise?”  

Yuu’s grin goes vicious. “You have no idea.” 

This all leads to one, inevitable conclusion: 

If there is going to be a better time to make the first move, Yuu isn’t patient enough to wait for it.  
  
***

“Hey, Asahi.” 

“Hm.” 

Both of them have their eyes trained on the split screen of the TV in Yuu’s bedroom. This definitely makes it easier for Yuu to ask his question. 

“You wanna do stuff?”

He wants to roll his eyes at himself—what he’d texted Asahi earlier in the day had been way sexier, had had way more teeth—but he tries to cut himself some slack over the phrasing. He’s used to asking Asahi for exactly what he wants, what he needs. Part of him feels like this shouldn’t be any different. 

“Um??” 

Yuu slides his eyes to the side to watches Asahi. He looks a little rattled, so Yuu offers, “Sorry to be so blunt-” 

“No, it’s okay.” 

He’d expected awkwardness on Asahi’s part. What he doesn’t expect is for Asahi’s expression to go dark and serious. A little scary in its intensity, if Yuu hadn’t known him better than most. He does’t turn to look at Yuu yet. But he does set down his Playstation controller, and breathe like it’s the only thing tethering him to the earth. 

“Really?” Asahi asks.

“Uh… yeah. Yes.” Asahi finally looks at him, and Yuu makes himself say, “I’ve been waiting, and I figure you’re too shy to ask me for anythin’. So. I am? Asking you, I mean.”  

Now Yuu does roll his eyes at himself—but his sense of self-forgiveness kicks in the second Asahi scoots closer to him and reaches for his hand. 

“I’d like that,” Asahi says, simply.

“Oh. _Oh_ , okay, now?”

Asahi is already too busy tugging him closer to let him answer verbally.

They take no time at all, progressing to the breathless point—they’ve been at the precipice many times before. But now there is an acceptance of the boundary being crossed. So there is haste. And yet, there’s also a surprising amount of patience, in the slow drag of cloth over skin, in the awkward placement of limb.  
But then, spread out on the futon, they take a moment to face each other. Shirts and pants and a couple socks are strewn around them.

And Asahi asks, “Why me?” 

Yuu’s first instinct is to groan over the fact that of course Asahi backpedals. And after all that beautiful, uncomplicated agreement. But he doesn’t groan, doesn’t say anything. He makes himself stop, bites his lips between his teeth, and listens.

Asahi repeats, “Why are you okay going along with all this with someone like me? I mean, you’re so—you’re so. Um. Please try to understand, I mean this with the best intentions-”

“I’m listenin’, Asahi. ‘m not gonna judge you.”

His boyfriend was already blushing, and now he goes bright red. 

But he manages, “You’re all… going after life with everything you’ve got. Enthusiasm and obvious drive. And I just… kinda reel in on myself and shut down. I’m trying to get better about that but still… Is that enough for you? Am I?”

Like he does with so many things, Asahi gets a little too poetic about expressing the questions. (Yuu has already promised not to share with the team the fact that Asahi sometimes spends whole evenings watching k-drama.) But he clearly does want to know. And Yuu knows that he really—genuinely—is that lacking in self-confidence. Still. Yuu doesn’t mind, anymore, trying to supply it for him.

Even if he doesn’t entirely understand what Asahi is trying to say—about himself or about Yuu. 

“Why you? You want me to answer that honestly?” 

Yuu surprises himself with coherence. He must surprise Asahi, too, because the brunet blinks, like he can’t believe he’s even getting to respond in a way that’s not an apology.

“Yes. Please Noya, tell me.” 

Once he hears the heat in Asahi’s tone—the hunger—Yuu finds a wellspring of compassion for both of them. Asahi doesn’t care if his phrasing is perfect; and Yuu knows that when Asahi hesitates it’s not just shy deflection. There’s warmth, outright passion behind his ace’s question. 

Yuu presses forward, from where they lay side-by-side. He throws one leg tightly over Asahi and purposefully presses every inch of his torso against him. 

“You really wanna know?” he repeats, breathing the question against the underside of Asahi’s jaw.  
Asahi nods, again and again. Yuu sees him mentally buckling in—which is good, because Yuu has been holding back. 

But so, it seems, has Asahi. 

As soon as Yuu releases the tirade of compliments—that Asahi is both the sexiest and sweetest person Yuu could possibly conceive of, that if there ever comes a time when he has to stop touching him, even in the smallest of ways, he’s definitely going to _die_ —Asahi rolls, wildcat fast, and presses him down into the bedding. A little too firmly. But _hell_ if Yuu is going to say anything to complain, after almost half a year of making out and light petting. He doesn’t stop talking. Doesn’t know how. And this—fortunately—only seems to spur his boyfriend on. 

Yuu had wanted to make the first move. But his pride completely abandons him—and he’s still getting what he wants. Still got the heel of Asahi’s hand pressed hard against him, fingers carefully learning the shape of him over his boxers. Still got Asahi’s other hand buried in his hair, yanking his head back so he can close his teeth over the pulse point there, his beard scratching at delicate skin. Even if Yuu’s pleasure in that means he’s apparently got some kind of weird masochistic streak, whatever. What’s important here is Asahi, and that Yuu can feel the difference in his intention, in the heat of the contact. 

But it is a little too much pressure. Physical pressure. 

He grabs Asahi’s biceps and forces himself back a little. Knowing he couldn’t bodily move Asahi if he tried—and he doesn’t really want to try. 

“Hold on,” he says—and realizes that he hadn’t thought through how that could be taken until he sees Asahi’s eyes go wide and horrified. “No no no… You’re fine, I mean, just- Let me up. You’re heavy.”

It only occurs to Yuu to be nervous about Asahi pulling him on top because it’s Asahi. Asahi, who due to their height difference is usually the one looking down at Yuu. Asahi, who is now making the first move that Yuu had wanted to make. Asahi, who is the goddamn shy one.

There’s no preparing for the index finger that creeps underneath the only fabric that remains between them, pulling it aside—tracing along the base of him, _Jesus_. 

Yuu’s breath is leaving him too fast. There’s not enough oxygen to regroup.

He can barely think about how unfair it would be for him not to reciprocate until he’s already come, and Asahi’s eyes are shining up at him. They’re desperate, in awe, full of a phrase he doesn’t need to say out loud. Because it’s one that Yuu already hears echoing around his skull, late at night, in Azumane Asahi’s voice.  
  
***

The second time an evening takes them both like a tsunami this way, they’re at Asahi’s house. Asahi had texted him that his mom was serious about the offer she had made for Yuu to join in on the Azumane summer vacation plans. Yuu doesn’t waste any time. He asks Asahi for an invite to his house—hey, at least he doesn’t invite himself over outright—so he can see for himself whether it’s true. Even though Asahi warns him about his mom’s tricky way of handling people. Even though Asahi is unsure of her motives—as apparently she’s been perfectly warm with her son, ever since the piercing episode.

(It _was_ just a night of upset. Everything’s fine, like Yuu thought it was—he’s this close to telling Asahi “I told you so.” But when he texts Ryuu about it, he advises him not to. Sometimes his best friend is the only one who can save him from his big mouth. Partly because he’s the only one Yuu trusts with the responsibility.)

He’s welcome for dinner, but he’s definitely not allowed to stay the night. That’s made very clear. Even if it isn’t said out loud. Azumane Mayumi is far too polite to even reference the possibly in as many words. 

But then. As if the gods of adulthood are mocking her, Mayumi-san’s cell phone rings in the middle of dinner.

She answers, and under her dark complexion, begins to go white almost immediately. 

“Yes. Yes, I understand. No, Abe-san, there’s no need to call anyone else, I can—and should—handle it. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

She hangs up, stands up. She looks down at them, to where they sit at the table among the mostly uneaten takeout. And all 175 centimeters of her poised height are behind the colossal subtlety of her glare.

“A negotiation fell through. I realize it’s very rude and I wouldn’t leave if I had any other choice but to be there in person. But we’ll lose if the case goes to litigation, and I can’t risk this particular client.” She addresses this brief aside to Asahi, and then turns back to Yuu. None of the unassuming judgement has left her dark brown eyes. “I hope you understand, Nishinoya-kun.”

He’s so overloaded with information, drowned in it, that he doesn’t know how to answer. He opens his mouth to try. Asahi saves him by jumping to his feet as if he should have been standing already. 

“Of course, Okaa-san. Do you want us to start cleaning up now, or…?”

She waves, already heading to the other room. “Please finish without me.”

Asahi and Yuu look at one another. Asahi looks only mildly bewildered.

“Does this happen a lot?” Yuu asks.

“Kind of?” Asahi scratches the back of his neck and sits back down. “She’s a lawyer, did I tell you that?”

“Wow, no. That’s kinda cool!” 

Asahi nods—though his eyes have that anxious squint to them they get when he wishes Yuu would talk more quietly. “It is. Her firm does international stuff.”

“Sounds complicated…”

“Yeah. So she’s always awake at weird hours talking to people in Mumbai or London or-”  
Mayumi-san pokes her head into the dining room again. 

“I expect you can find your way back to the train station by yourself, Nishinoya-kun? No need to help my son clean up, he can do it himself.” 

It’s apparently not a question. The front door clicks shut only a couple seconds later. 

Head still swimming from the maternal onslaught, Yuu tries to break the silence. He manages, “Well, I’m not just gonna eat and run, so let’s finish and get to the cleanup.” 

Asahi offers him an unsure smile, picking up his glass. “Thanks.”

“Then maybe you can show me your room?” Asahi chokes on his water. At this, and as he continues to speak, Yuu finds his confidence level rising again. “I’ve never been here before, seems like a waste not to get to know a little more about ya.” 

“Noya…” Once he recovers from the hazards of blending beverages and mouthy boyfriends, a not-entirely-unsure frown washes over his face. “You’re supposed to be going home.”

“And I will. Right after I see your bedroom.” Yuu grins, feeling he’s fully shaken the metaphorical water from his ears. “You’ve seen mine. It’s only fair.” 

Asahi is still not convinced. 

But they finish dinner. Asahi doesn’t protest against the ankle that Yuu hooks over his own. He even nudges his chair closer, even though it scrapes unpleasantly against the tile floor. 

And once they’re by themselves, in Asahi’s bedroom. 

Yuu’s adrenaline is still high from the encounter in the dining room. Asahi’s must be, too, because when Yuu corners him against the door, lifts up on his toes and kisses him like he’s coming up for air, Asahi makes no pretense at a fight. 

Asahi’s bed is Western-style, set on a sturdy frame just off the carpeted floor. It, he decides, is what sets the idea in his head. He blames that bed, utterly. 

Yuu can barely believe what he’s doing. But just when they've sat, side-by-side on the mattress, he drops off the side of the mattress to the floor. He literally goes to his knees for Asahi—who, predictably, panics a little before he settles his hands into Yuu’s hair. He even tugs, lightly, occasionally, and Yuu assumes something must feel right, despite his own absolute lack of experience. 

When Asahi’s done, he lifts Yuu—who is out of the brain-power it would take to be offended at being manhandled—up off the floor. Asahi breathes, touches his face. As he does so, says, “You’re so… god, Yuu, you’re so perfect. I wish you knew how much. Perfect, and amazing, and so cute-” 

Yuu retreats a little on an exhale. “Ughhh, I would rather be literally anything else but cute, Christ—”

So Asahi traces his fingers over Yuu’s zipper, already undone. Yuu stills, and hold his breath. 

He can hear in Asahi’s voice how embarrassed he is, but also how strongly he’s willing himself to speak. Yuu loves him a little more for that. “Then I take it back. Should I tell you that you’re unbelievably hot, instead? And that if I don’t get to touch you now, _I’m_ the one who’s going to die?” 

Yuu feels abrupt heat flood his face at having his own words shot back at him. But he’s not inclined to get in Asahi’s way—or his own—after a statement like that. 

“So,” he asks, sometime later. It’s way too late in the evening. He has to go, or he risks them getting caught—more than he already has. But he’s lying on his side, sated, staring into Asahi’s unguarded eyes. “How come you only use my given name when we’re having sex? Or when you’re pissed at me?” 

Asahi blushes, but he’s clearly ready with an answer. “I use it when I want to get your attention.” 

“But you pretty much always have that.” 

“Your full and undivided attention. Volleyball-level attention.” 

“…Okay.”

Yuu tries not to let his enthusiasm at even the mention of their sport show. But he can’t help it. His eyes widen a fraction and Asahi—who always notices things like that—laughs under his breath.

“You get it?” Asahi asks, reaching across the scant distance between them to brush Yuu’s bangs back. 

To cover his fondness, Yuu says gruffly, “I guess. Somehow I feel like that’s an excuse to call me a bird brain without havin’ to say the words, but. Sure, I get it.” 

“I wouldn’t say that, not ever. I actually think you’re very intelligent.” Asahi smiles—but the next part is spoken so lowly Yuu barely catches it. “Even it you apply it sparingly.” 

He shifts up on his elbow, not sure if he wants to smoosh Asahi with a pillow or punch him outright. “I heard that!”

“Heard what,” Asahi laughs, shortly, before raising his forearms to defend himself from what Yuu will admit is a cheap pillow shot to the face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My brother has my sister-in-law’s name in his phone with the last vowel dragged out and a less-than-three at the end and I thought that was the cutest damn thing I’d ever seen and also possibly something a certain little libero would do, so.
> 
> Noya gets more POV in these early chapters, Asahi in the later. Looking at the combined word count, though, Asahi will still end up getting most of it… Dammit Noya why are you so hard to get a narrative handle on??


	4. In Which Noya Travels

Streams and fields streak across the broad train window. Long, yellowing grass waves at them from clearings dotted with weatherworn shrines. Ancient waterwheels chug along in the little rivers that wind around dilapidated homes—where many of the grass-thatched roofs have been restored for the sake of tourists like them. And the mountains of Iwate roll along, some pine-covered, some blue and mysterious with distance.

Yuu is anxious to see the ocean, already. The route from Miyagi prefecture to Aomori is unfortunately not a coastal line. But, he guesses it’s still two and a half hours of scenery worth staying awake for.

He shifts his legs out in front of him—plenty of legroom on this line, even for the giant sitting next to him. He knocks Asahi’s foot lightly in the process.

Punctuating the stretch with a grin, Yuu says, “It’s like something out of an old samurai movie, out there.”

This, and the subtle point of contact between them, earn him a pleased smile from Asahi. “Yeah, and it’s like this all the way to the coast. The town where the house is looks a little like a movie-set.”

“Nice!”

Asahi nods. “We’ll go explore. I’ve only been two or three times, but my cousins who live up there  can show us around.”

“And you’re pretty close with them, right? What about everyone else? Who’s all coming?”

“One question at a time,” Asahi laughs.

Yuu clutches at his own knees as if to contain himself. “I’m just too excited, I never get to go anywhere!”

“I know.” Another happy tremor runs through Asahi’s silhouette, outlined by the brightness beyond the window. “So let’s see… It’ll be all the cousins. The whole paternal side of the family. My uncles, and their wives. And my aunt, Kaori—all the cousins love Kaori-oba, since she’s only about ten years older than most of us.”

“So she’s the Cool Aunt? The one who buys you guys booze?”

Asahi looks like he’s about to say no, no way would she do such a thing—but when his mouth has hung open for a second too long, he snaps it shut. “Well. She might- But not for a week like this.”

Yuu snickers. “Why not?”

“Because they’ll all want to stay on my grandfather’s good side. If they want anything out of the inheritance, goodwill is all they have going for them. Since none of them are actually related to him, I mean.”

“Really? So this is…” Yuu cocks his head and wracks his brain over an internal family tree. “…your mom’s dad, then?”

“Yeah.”

“Why would he pass anything down to your dad’s siblings?”

Asahi takes a patient breath, like he’s been asked this question before. “Because on the Housen side, it’s just my mom. She’s an only child, too. Ojii-san doesn’t have a ton of money, but he thinks it’s too much to give to just me and her. Plus…”

He trails off. Yuu prompts him, tapping one of his Converse against Asahi’s ankle. “Plus?”  
Asahi shrugs, his expression uncertain, his gaze taken by the middle distance. Yuu has never seen him make this face before. A little lost, a little… nostalgic?

What Asahi says next comes out in a very soft tone.

“Since Ojii-san didn’t have any sons, he kind of saw my dad as an adopted son. And my dad was the oldest child. So now he sees the whole Azumane family as his responsibility.”

Oh.

Not wanting to risk this uncharted territory—at least not when the mention of the deceased man has Asahi making _that_ face—Yuu says a little too quickly, “Tell me something else about this benefactor grandpa.”

“Uh, well…” Asahi blinks, hard. It seems to snap him out of at least the aimless gazing. “His name is Katsutoshi. And he’s kind of formal-”

“Housen-sama, then, got it.”

“Er- no. I wasn’t trying to imply-”

“I’m making fun, you’re fine.” He prods Asahi in the side with an elbow. “No need to apologize.”

“Right.”

Asahi sighs, but settles. Yuu half-smirks, self-satisfied. He had managed to avert them from the precipice of that chasm of a conversation—one Asahi really doesn’t really to delve into just before introducing a partner to his family for the first time ever. Not only that, but even as he flailed for ways to distract them, he’d managed to remember not to tell Asahi, “ _Don’t_ apologize.” If he had, Asahi would’ve apologized again.

Small victories, that they don’t take either of these paths. Hard-learned strategies, getting there.

He looks from Asahi, to the fields outside the train. Asahi is sitting by the window, so Yuu has the advantage of having to face him to see out of it, so he can watch both the scenery and his boyfriend at the same time.

Neither shifts very much in the next few minutes. The mountains creep by. The ace—former ace, but Yuu will always think of him that way—twists his fingers around one another in his lap, the knuckles going white. What Yuu really wants to do is reach over and set his own hand over them. But there are too many people in this train car. He would be trying to help. But the action would only make Asahi’s fidgeting worse.

“So, anyway,” Asahi says, picking up where he left off. “Ojii-san is one of the last in the family, and they- or I guess, we still owns the house. Actually, speaking of all that, one of the things my mom wants to do while we’re up there is see about the inheritance. She doesn’t think whoever drafted the first will did a very good job…”

There’s a change in Asahi’s tone. Yuu knows that now, he’s talking to himself—talking out loud just to talk, more than anything. This is something Yuu is used to. Being Asahi’s sounding board. Sometimes Asahi’s brain gets too packed with thoughts, too crowded with images, and he just needs to talk to sort them out. Yuu’s happy to let him. Not least because Asahi doesn’t usually need him to answer—just to nod along, reassure Asahi that what he says has value.

Yuu usually doesn’t understand how or why Asahi has got himself so worked up, to begin with—but he doesn’t need to. Better to be there for him in the ways he can be. A solid presence. A warm body for when he needs the physical reminder that he’s not just a slightly out-of-tune mind, drifting along.

So Yuu is listening. He is.

But again. Two-and-a-half-hour train ride.

Maybe he should suggest that they play video games to pass the time. Ran had left Yuu his PSP Go the last time he was in town (and claimed it was because he didn’t have time for it anymore; Yuu called bullshit and figured it was because the bottom of the screen was cracked. Ran can afford to buy the Vita when it finally comes out—since he’s the only one in the family with any money to speak of, fiancee in high society and all). Anyway the inner workings of the Azumane family might seem a little less dire if Assassin’s Creed was at stake.

Except maybe not Assassin’s Creed. A little too confrontational for Asahi, yet. He’d get there. But Asahi, as it turns out, _is_ surprisingly good at racing games. Probably because he can visualize exactly what’s coming in a way you never can with randomly generating monsters and soldiers. Hence, the download of Need for Speed Yuu has waiting on the PSP.

He looks to Asahi to see if this is a good spot to redirect him.

“…tell you about the history of the house himself. He’s really proud of it. Or maybe it would impress him if you already knew? …Noya?”

“Yes!” Yuu sits up, feeling a little like he’s been called on for an answer in a class where the teacher knows he’s not been listening. But, he thinks, he manages not to scramble too hard for a proper answer. “I mean no, you don’t have to tell me anything else now. We have, what, a whole week there?”

Asahi’s mouth is a flat line. He next words barely sound like a question. “You didn’t even hear what I said, did you?”

“Yeah I did.”

“You did not.”

“Did too—hey, look, cows!”

“W-” Yuu watches Asahi’s hair flip from his headband as his head turns. “Oh yeah. Aw.”

Perfect distraction. Asahi likes cows; they’re a generally peaceful, non-threatening sort of animal. He looks at them with an absent little smile. From the side, Yuu can see that this change melts some of the lines of stress from his face. Even despite the midday sun making him squint.

But now he’s noticing how bad the remaining stress lines still are.

Yuu growls a little, not sure if Asahi hears him over the ambient hum of the train over the tracks below. But he doesn’t see the point in doing anything other than face the problem head on, seeing that that all of the distractions have failed.

He reaches beneath Asahi’s jacket and pinches his side. Asahi gasps but doesn’t look at him, only absently swats his hand away.

“So,” Yuu says, pinching him again. “I’m guessin’ you’ve been talking so much because you’re really nervous about introducin’ me to them, aren’t you.”

“To the cows?”

His answer as absent as the swat, Yuu thinks maybe Asahi isn’t actually paying attention. “ _Of course not_ , you- oh.”

Asahi’s eyes have shifted back to him, lit with humor. But they’re also liquid chocolate in the sunlight, his eyelashes and flyaway bangs backlit. His summer tan is almost at its darkest, and the golden hue of it perfectly compliments the azure of the sky above the fields. Yuu kind of wants to finish his statement, to go ahead and call Asahi a jerk—but not when his boyfriend is this pretty in the afternoon light.

No, not worth it.

Especially not when he’d probably accuse Yuu of being able to dish it out but not take it.

Then Asahi sighs. He settles his back into the shadow cast by the window frame, back fully against the ugly pattern of the seat cushion.

“I am nervous, I guess.”

“But you’re close with them, you’ve said. And you’re not, like, coming out to them, right?”

“Shhh- no, I took care of that part last year during the winter break. But I still feel like… I don’t know, it’s big. Meaningful."

“No pressure, right?”

“I-I don’t mean to put pressure on you!” Asahi sits forward, speaking quickly.

Yuu waves a hand to calm him; he feels very little of this supposed pressure. Not none. But very little. “I know, you’re not. I get it.”

“It’s just mean that they won’t be able to pretend it’s hypothetical now. Does that make sense?”

Yuu nods, but slowly. “I don’t know about big ’n meaningful. My extended family’s not as close as yours, so I can’t really imagine that kind of conversation. Maybe… don’t think of it that way, though.”

Asahi inclines his head a little. “What do you mean?”

“Well you’ve already had one big conversation. Does this need to be like that?”

“…Probably not.”

Asahi goes quiet. Doesn’t say anything for several long seconds. Yuu chews on his lower lip as he looks, ostensibly, past Asahi into the mountain pass beyond the window. The pass is well behind them by the time another word is spoken between them.

But after a while, he can’t help it. A choice few of Asahi’s words continue darting around in his head.

“Winter break, huh…” Yuu leans forward and tries, subtly, to meet Asahi’s eyes. “So that was. After we started dating, right?”

Asahi ducks his head down. But he doesn’t shush him this time. “Right. That was after.”

Then he jerks his head toward the window so all Yuu can see is the mess that his ponytail has become. Turning his eyes to the glass, again, Yuu lets Asahi have his personal space. To be honest, he’s glad for it. Asahi can’t see that his own face has gone red, that the corners of his mouth won’t stop quirking upward.

He’s used to being a catalyst. But every time it happens with Asahi, he can’t help but savor the sensation that lodges in his chest. All warm and somewhere between shared pride and outright triumph.

After another long moment, he asks, “So… we done with all that worry?”

Asahi exhales a laugh through his noes. It fogs the glass, despite the summer heat. “Sure.”

“Okay.” Yuu nods with finality. “So we should probably start plotting how we’re gonna dominate at beach volleyball…”  
  
***

Mayumi-san meets Asahi and Yuu at the train station. She’s there to drive them another thirty-five minutes toward the coast, to the Housen house. Very tall, especially for a Japanese woman, she is also stately in a way that had at first made Yuu doubt that mother and son were even related. Pearls in her ears, and a pressed gray pant-suit despite the fact that it must be over 32° outside, she is beyond “put together.”

Yuu expects Asahi to sit with her in the front. He doesn’t know whether Asahi doesn’t try because he sees the large purse already on the passenger seat, or whether he just wants to sit near Yuu. To help ease the inevitable awkwardness. Which would be preferable.

Either way.

The two of them sit for most of the drive faced with her tight, silver-streaked chignon. She hardly turns her head toward them when she asks a few offhanded questions about how Asahi found the train route and what Yuu plans to do at school the next term. Her one concession to human impulse is the way she holds the steering wheel with one hand, lightly rolling the fabric of her pants between the false nails of the other. If he weren’t so thrown by how tense she seems, Yuu would have warmed to her—the habit is that similar to Asahi’s own fidgeting.

Overall, other than the scraping of acrylic over polyester, it is a very quiet thirty-five minutes.  
  
***  
  
Seeing it roll into view from the car window, Yuu wishes he’s paid a little closer attention to Asahi’s  rendition of the history of the house.

(It had been so detailed, dammit. Even after their Deep and Meaningful Talk, Asahi had chatted nervously. And Yuu had missed most of it because of samurai-mountains and cows. And also because it started to feel a little like school.)

Still. The grandeur of the place gives Yuu a little context. A little explanation for some of Asahi’s quiet pride. And for the stiff formality with which Azumane Mayumi holds herself.  

They park in the long, primitive drive that leads off the coastal highway and up to a sprawling complex, all perched on a stretch of low cliff that overlooks the rocky beach below.

“Whoa!” Yuu says, when he steps out of the car and shuts the door—hard, without thinking. He can’t help it; he remembers all too well that the country kids like himself (including Shouyou, or so he’d heard) had looked even more like bumpkins when they’d let on how unfamiliar they were with the cityscape of Tokyo. But this is even more impressive than a few—admittedly lovely—transmission towers.

Asahi is suddenly at this side. His mother is already marching toward the front door. Without eyes to watch him do it, Asahi’s hand nudges into Yuu’s own, squeezing momentarily before dropping away.

“It’s cool, isn’t it?” Asahi says.

“It’s-” Yuu catches himself. Now doesn’t seem quite the time for vocabulary like “fuckin’ rad.” “Amazing. Seriously.”

Asahi smiles shyly down at him. “Glad you think so. Come on, I think my uncles and Ojii-san are already here. He likes everyone to be punctual.”

There are several people milling near and inside the large sliding door of the structure. The house itself is a traditional masterpiece of woodwork, paper walls, and glass. Through the wide doorway, he can see that the spaces within are open and spare, with painted screens separating the first two large rooms.  
They’ve barely stepped up onto the raised wooden porch that looks to encircle the whole house when Mayumi-san waves in their direction.

“There’s Asahi. And the young man you don’t know is Nishinoya Yuu-kun.” But then she continues, “Asahi’s boyfriend.”

She says it so casually. In that same offhanded tone she had used to ask whether Yuu would have the same literature teacher that Asahi had had last year—a “fool with a clear liberal bent who shouldn’t be allowed to talk to children let alone teach them.”

Asahi’s eyes flick to Yuu’s. Yuu knows Asahi has visualized a peaceful introduction scene, a thousand times. Had gone over how Not A Big Deal it would be on the train on the way here. But now, he’s valiantly trying to subdue panic.

The keyed up expression settles most, though, when one of the nearest uncles bows lightly and introduces himself in turn (“Azumane Naoki; you’ll see Takashi over there, he’s my eldest”). Even the old man who must be Asahi’s grandpa offers a tight smile and a nod that seems to extend to both him and Asahi.

Yuu doesn’t trust it, one bit.

Asahi’s mother claps sharply. Both of them jerk a little—Asahi almost jumps.

“So. We’ll see about sleeping arrangements for everyone first—the late birds will just have to pick from our leftovers—and then there are a few scheduled things I’d like to see to before the young people escape to the beach. Otou-sama, who has your bags?”

“You’ll know I’ll have brought them in myself, Mayumi…” the old man says. Not helping his case for self-sufficiency, his shifting gate slows her own clipped pace down by about half. As she matches him, she turns her head sharply to Asahi.

She doesn’t have to say anything.

Asahi strides forward, saying, “There’s something else I can do for you though, Ojii-san, right?”  
Yuu is left a little unsure as to whether he should follow them. Or return to the car and preemptively volunteer to get their own bags, or just stand in the entryway staring at the gleaming, complex woodwork. Fortunately, the uncle who had introduced himself sees Yuu’s confusion and takes pity on him. He gestures to where the family patriarch is ambling down a long corridor, passed a large room with a family alter. The uncle narrates their walk through the first few turns.

“Housen was a very successful fishing family in its time,” Naoki-san says. He sounds almost like he’s reciting a museum curator’s script. “So Katsutoshi-san is very proud of this place. Even though he only lives here about a month out of the year. He gets bored, works and lives in town, you see.”

“Then for most of the year no one lives here?” They pass one tatami-matted room, the closet doors painted with what looks like the mountains he and Asahi passed on the train here, covered in layers of mist. “That seems like a waste…”

Naoki-san chuckles. “Actually, it becomes quite the tourist attraction for the better part of the year. It’s all very romantic to westerners, you know. The old wooden house on the beach, the story of how it’s been in the Housen family for over a hundred years.”

“Sure.” Yuu knows he should reach for a better—more polite—response. But he isn’t quite sure how to respond. It’s romantic to _him_ , and his own neighborhood is full of houses in this style. Nothing quite this grand, of course.

There’s some shuffling movement from where Asahi and his mother have vanished around a corner. Darting among the paper walls, Asahi seems to be grabbing a set of bags at Mayumi-san’s directions and moving them to what she says is a nicer room. Yuu can’t imagine that a single inch of this place isn’t nice.

Forget nice. Gorgeous. Even intimidating.

“Bored yet, Nishinoya-san?” asks a young man, hanging back from the group. Naoki-san’s aforementioned son, Takashi, Yuu thinks. Not giving him a chance to answer, he says, “Don’t worry. When my brother and cousins get here, it’ll definitely be a party.”

His eyes are deep-set, like Asahi’s. But the mischief in Naoki-san’s expression must come from the other side of the family.  
  
***  
  
As they put their things away, Yuu wonders about the other cousins. Their looks and demeanors, and whether they resemble Asahi’s. He remembers, at least, that there are five Azumane cousins, plus a second cousin and one on the way—and he hopes he can keep them all sorted, in what is turning out to be not that large a space, after all.

The house has to accommodate sixteen people for the week, so they spend several further minutes on sleeping arrangements. The couples and some of their younger children will share. Asahi and Yuu will bunk with Naoki-san’s sons—Takashi, who’d promised the party, and Makoto, who is eighteen like Asahi. Makoto’s girlfriend is also here, they learn, but she’ll be staying with “Kaori-oba-san” and Asahi’s younger cousin, Yuuka.

(This bit of sexual politics seems blatant, and unfair. But also a relief. He doesn’t know how couple-y he wants to see anyone else acting this week, especially when he’s (mostly) prepared to keep his hands to himself where Asahi’s concerned.)

Just after they’ve managed to sort the space in the smallish room, Yuu can hear one of the women squeal. Then, several pairs of eager, bare feet shuffle over the wood of the hallway.

“Aah, we’re so sorry we’re late, everyone’s here already!”

The distant voice comes from the entryway. It’s joined shortly by the overjoyed voices of the wives of Asahi’s uncles. Asahi pokes his head out of the room.

“Oh, it’s my aunt!”

Asahi has already told Yuu about his only blood aunt. How she’s one of those women whose presence just puts you at ease. She seem to be using that talent now. The women, who were so loud before, are circling over Kaori-san’s shoulders, staring with contained excitement and intensity at what looks like a polaroid.

Yuu thinks, as he and Asahi, walk down the hall together, that she looks to be not even thirty now—and that she has one of those faces that will be adorable well into her forties. She’s also visibly pregnant, but somehow that only adds to the impression of sweetness.

Clinging to her hand is a toddler. Asahi has also mentioned his little second cousin, a two-and-a-half-year-old by the name of Haruki. The kid is tall for his age—both the Azumane and Housen sides of the family must grow like weeds, everyone here is taller than average. But this tiny cousin looks just as shy as Asahi had been when Yuu had first met him.

Then one of the women plucks the polaroid-thing from Kaori-san’s hand and kneels down to ask the kid what he thinks about his little brother- or sister-to-be. The child stares at her flatly and points at the picture—must be a sonogram—with impatience. As if he has answered this question many times before.

On a bit of a lisp, he says, “That’s a jellyfish.”

The Azumane family finds this quite delightful.

Yuu isn’t particularly affected, and doesn’t think the presence of a child this young will make much of a difference to their trip. He certainly doesn’t think he’ll pay him any more attention than is due to the rest of the many extended family members.

Yuu discovers, almost immediately, that he is wrong.

The second Kaori-san beckons Asahi over, he picks the child up. And Yuu finds himself revising his assessment of the whole concept. Asahi, the big softie, holds the kid like a natural. His arms relaxed, his shoulders extra-broad next to the tiny body. Seconds later, Haruki’s chubby little hands go straight for Asahi’s hair and _tug_ —and he laughs with babyish glee.

When Asahi tries to put Haruki down, the boy gives a high grunt and bows his back so his feet stay off the floor.

One of the cousins—Kenta-san, Yuu thinks—chuckles. “Good luck, Asahi. The kid’s merciless!”

Asahi only looks mildly harassed. Then he sets his nose against the baby’s forehead and grins.  
For one of the few times in his life he can recall, Yuu can think of nothing to say—the perfection of the family moment is _that_ offensive.  
  
***  
  
Ryuu and his sister arrive a couple days after their own arrival.

Asahi and his cousins have gone on ahead into town, while the older family members have gone with Housen-sama to take care of some family business. Yuu is waiting alone for the Tanaka siblings. And thus when Saeko-nee-san hops out of the car and stretches her arms above her head, her black top riding halfway up her stomach, he has no reason to feel protective.

He does, anyway.

“Whew, that’s a long car trip! Maki-chan better be grateful I came all this way…” Saeko says, her voice pitched high. She gives a feminine grunt when she finishes her stretch. Then her eyes alight on Yuu from across the broad gravel driveway. “Oy, Yuu, come say hi before I have to get back in this car! Just dropping off your BFF.”

She grins. Yuu grins back and does as she says.

And after she is a dusty cloud in the distance and he and Ryuu have managed the obligatory shouting and overreacting about the amazingness that is the old house, the two of them settle down enough to walk the grounds. There’s a small, traditional garden framing the complex’s southern and eastern perimeters, but more impressive is the rickety wooden staircase that leads away from the grounds and down the cliff separating the sheltered inlet from the house that overlooks it. The staircase is not well attended to, and the young people have already been warned off using it to get down to the shore. But it’s shaded on both sides by plush greenery—the stubborn kind that flourishes even when there’s nothing but rock to grown in. So they pick their way down, stop about a third of the way, and decide without words that they’ve tempted fate enough. They sit side-by-side on the steps.

“Who’s ‘Maki-chan’?” Yuu asks idly, picking at the grass jutting from between the ancient wooden boards.

“One of Nee-san’s millions of friends, I swear she has at least one in every town on Honshu’s east coast.” Ryuu trails off, breathes in deeply of the salt air. Yuu can’t blame him; he had spent the better part of the first afternoon feeling like he could do nothing but breathe and stare between the branches of the trees.

“Nice, isn’t it?” he asks.

Ryuu nods. He doesn’t really look at Yuu—again, he can’t blame him. The ocean distracts both sets of eyes, aquamarine glimmering in the midmorning sun. “Yeah. So we’re stayin with Maki-san and her roommate. They’ve got a little house not far from here.”

“She should bring ‘em to the beach tomorrow. Everyone’s gonna be hangin’ out down the coast, where the good swimming is.”

Lighting up significantly, Ryuu asks, “And are there nets at this beach?”

“Yeah, dude! All of the cousins have been wanting to play. And lucky for Nee-san and her friend, they’re single and older and will probably be shirtless. And, Ryuu, I swear everyone in this family is built like a fuckin’ tank, like Asahi or even bigger. She’ll owe you for hookin’ them up.”

At the mention of Asahi’s name, Ryuu’s eyes go wide with a barely contained, manic glee.

Yuu’s answering smile is half-confused, half-eager. “What?”

“Dude. I forgot until just now. But you will never believe what one of Nee-san’s other friends said about this little town, like 50 kilometers inland from here.”

“What’s that?”

“This is too awesome.” Ryuu is wearing his _I’m almost afraid to tell you it’s too amazing you’re gonna die_ expression. “And I’m glad Asahi’s not here man because you’ll find it hilarious but he’ll find it mortifyin’. And he’ll probably start avoidin’ the locals-”

“Okay so tell me, goddamn!”

Ryuu holds up an index finger and takes a deep breath. “They say that the village of Shingou… is the location of the actual tomb of Jesus Christ.”

Yuu’s face falls flat. God damn indeed. Not at all sure what to do with that obvious lie, he mutters, “…No way.”

“I’m totally serious!” Ryuu crows. “Nee-san’s friend swears it’s true; they say that in ancient times, Jesus actually studied in Japan and that’s how he became all wise and shit.”

“Well.” Yuu shifts his weight on the step, thinking it over. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Right?? And then after twelve years, he went back to wherever he came from but they were obviously crazy there so he came back to Aomori, became a rice farmer, and settled down with some nice Japanese girl and had a family. And there’re still relatives of his to this day.”

It takes a second. But then their eyes, blown wide with realization, meet. Ryuu covers his mouth with one summer-tanned hand.

“Wait-”

“-a second.”

Ryuu tears his hand away. “Now this actually makes sense- I bet Asahi is some long-lost descendant. Especially if he’s from here—how did I not realize this? Karasuno's nativity play just got a lot more historically accurate!”

Ryuu punctuates his story by slapping his thighs like an old man, grinning and pleased with himself.  
Well he might. By the time he’s done talking, Yuu is all but doubled over on the step, wheezing with laughter.

“Oh my god!” he shouts, sitting straight up again. Little black spots dance in front of his view of the ocean with how fast he moves. “I am definitely gonna tell Asahi, and he is definitely gonna spend the rest of the trip paranoid that the locals think he’s some reincarnation. Perfect! Ryuu, you are a true friend.”

Ryuu colors, as he always does when they talk about their respective awesomeness. “I couldn’t come all the way out here after you and Asahi invited us without some kind of gift.”

Yuu hums in acknowledgment. He can’t stamp down the laughter yet and he doesn’t bother trying.  

“So,” Ryuu continues, looking a little too pleased even for someone who’d just offered up that kind of comedic gold. “Is it nice to be here, by the way? All. Um. You know, out in the open?”

This does temper Yuu’s laughter, a little, and he isn’t sure how much of that is uneasiness. It’s not that they’re any more open here than they are anywhere else. Not like they hide back home. Not exactly. Yuu has never cared what strangers thought, and Asahi is getting there. But in the last four months since Asahi’s graduation, it’s been easy to forget that there are people who know them that they might want to consider hiding from.

For example, they haven’t so much hidden it from the rest of the team as much as Asahi had graduated and made it, conveniently, slightly less Everyone Else’s Business.

He decides to ignore this part.

What he feels, honestly, with the ocean below them and the breeze beckoning them, is this:

“It’s good. And it’s nice of you to ask, bro.”

Ryuu gives an awkwardly crooked grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone for reading! I appreciate each hit and the kudos so much! Please feel free to comment to tell me what you thought, as well.
> 
> Needed a little filler this chapter to introduce the family. From here on our you can expect an update every week or so. The rest is mostly written, but now that school’s in, I’m not going to be as free to rewrite at my own luxurious schedule… Overall, we’re looking at about 11 chapters plus an epilogue. 
> 
> To think two months ago I worried I’d even have enough of a story here to fill 10,000 words…


	5. In Which There Is Beach Volleyball

Asahi peers up into the sun—and spikes.

Noya yelling behind him like they’re back at Nationals—Tanaka yelling too, somewhere in the distance—is worth the price of the shock it sends down his arm. He can tell when he lands that his form is good, even on the sand. Even after months of sporadic attendance the community team’s practices. There’s not as much time for it as he’d thought there would be, with his schedule of classes and the part-time work he’s picked up.

But he’s glad there’s time for this.

“Argh! Cuz, I think you broke my fingers,” his cousin Takuya says, clutching the digits of one hand with the other. “You’re, what, a year older than me with twice the muscle mass? Chill out a little maybe…”

Asahi waffles over whether to apologize—or whether to raise his eyebrows and tell him to suck it up if he’s worth the last name that they share. But his palm’s still stinging and a victorious set is one point away. He’s inclined toward the latter. 

“Asahi-san.”

Noya stands next to him now, looking up at him very seriously. Asahi had almost forgotten the feeling of having the little guardian god at his back. He thinks, as the sun shines down on their impromptu game, that he needed the reminder.

“Ignore him. Never, ever chill out,” Noya says. And then his face lights up with a proud smile that puts Asahi right back in high school. Asahi feels his answering smile reach his eyes.

Tanaka all but collides with them, a blur rushing from the sideline. He whacks Asahi on the shoulder. Asahi doesn’t stumble—but he does wonder, unable to pinpoint the moment when Tanaka got comfortable enough with him to do such a thing. 

“Nice kill! Man, I haven’t seen a spike like that since you were with the team. The freak combo’s gotten pretty stellar but Hinata just doesn’t have the power you do.” 

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short, Ryuu! You’ve bulked up a lot—and either way you’re awesome enough to be Karavuno’s ace now, so.”

“Noya-san…”

Makoto shouts at them from across the net. He manages a tone that is only marginally grumpy over the imminent loss. 

“Alright, enough reminiscing! And Tanaka-san, you’ll get your turn in a second… Asahi, we gonna finish this set or what?”

Asahi knows he doesn’t need to add to the twin evil grins the two crows offer his cousin.

He does, anyway. 

His current team—consisting of himself, Noya, and his cousin Takashi—wins the set, of course. Since Kenta, Makoto, and Takuya are also present, along with Tanaka and making it seven players in total, they’ve been taking turns rotating out so they can play three-on-three. One of them stands on the sidelines every set. Now, Asahi trades with Karasuno’s current ace; it’s his turn to make his way to the edge of the makeshift volleyball court. 

And the second he steps to the side, Kaori-oba and Yuuka (his uncle Naomi’s fifteen-year-old daughter) tag-team him. 

“Can we braid your hair??” Yuuka asks.

“Eh!?”

“Please?” Kaori-oba adds. All big brown eyes and wide-mouthed smiles, his aunt and cousin are formidable. 

“We’ve done ours already, and my friends haven’t arrived yet.”

“And none of the other boys’ hair is long enough,” Yuuka adds.

Their own dark brown locks are nicely pulled back, looking almost professionally done and glossy in the midday light. They’ve made crowns of a combinations of French and Dutch braids. (Asahi knows the difference; Shimizu, kindly, taught him more than just how to pull his hair back into a bun without compromising his scalp. This fact alone is why he is not at all embarrassed by the knowledge). The braids probably help keep the flyaways out of the women’s eyes. But Asahi isn’t at all sure his cousins would let him live it down, if they attended to him in that way. 

It wouldn’t be at all comparable to what Noya has done to his own hair, today. He’s gone without styling it, but the layers that are long enough are tied back into the smallest of queues. Noya didn’t think the effort was a success, calling it a sacrifice to the beach gods in exchange for a day of sunscreen and saltwater. (Asahi hadn’t told him, but he thought it was adorable.)

“Um, your efforts would probably be wasted on me…” Asahi says, self-consciously scratching underneath his sand-logged ponytail. “I think everyone’s going to jump in the water again later and it would just mess it up-”

“Actually!” Yuuka exclaims, smile widening. “A braid will help! It’s more likely to stay put than a bun or anything like that. Plus you won’t have a rat’s nest of tangles at the end of the day.” 

“Oh…” He trails off. His gaze flicks to the court, trying to judge how engrossed Noya, Tanaka, and the Azumane men are in the current set. 

They seem pretty engrossed.

Noya and Tanaka are on opposite sides of the net, now. It’s hard not to watch Noya first. Or exclusively. Always one of the strongest even among giants, Noya has not surprised Asahi with how versatile he is. He defaults to receives, but he’s been holding his own and then some for gods knew how many sets at the more casual play division of beach volleyball. Now that he’s on a team with Makoto and Takuya—each of whom has 20cm on him, easy—he falls into his standard place. 

There’s nothing standard about the way he plays, of course. 

The point is, everyone seems too busy watching his libero to pay much attention to the women waiting for his answer on the sidelines. 

“Alright,” Asahi says to Yuuka, still a little unsure about the whole ordeal.

“Great!” The girl drops unceremoniously to the ground and plops a beach towel with yellow and orange flowers on it down in front of her, sand spraying in its wake. Kaori-oba reaches into her fanny pack for some hair ties. Asahi sends a small prayer to the beach gods, too, thanking them that the ties are not pink or sparkly. Or sporting little stars like the ones Yacchan wore last year. 

When he hesitates over this thought, Yuuka says sternly, “Sit here.” 

So he does. And, seeing Kaori-oba struggle, promptly gets up again to help the pregnant woman down to her own towel. She smiles at him in thanks, shifts her feet to the side and scoots against Yuuka so she can guide her hands. 

Seated once again, Asahi finds that it’s surprisingly calming to surrender this minor piece of self-care to someone else. He lets his eyes follow the volleyball several yards away, its slow float and quick dart. He vaguely hears Kaori-oba coaching Yuuka on how to evenly divide the strands, how to hold them between her fingers so that they don’t commingle and compromise the symmetry.

At the same time, the boys shout at one another as to strategy, holler intermittent compliments. The energy heightens as the point gap closes; his cousins are more experienced playing on the sand, but they have Noya’s genius physical reflexes to contend with. On the other side, though, is Tanaka—as they’d established, Karasuno’s new ace. The crows’ technique quickly catches up with his family’s years of summertime experience. Talent starts to outshine comfort, and it becomes a match of ace against libero.

He’s rarely seen the best friends play one against the other. It’s fascinating. 

“Asahi-san!”

He barely registers that one of the shining players is looking at him with bright eyes. Noya scrambles to close the distance between himself and the trio at the sidelines. Everyone else has dropped to the sand, the set at its end. Complaining that their water bottles are no longer cold, one of them shouts that a good host would have remembered to bring an ice chest; and there follows a debate over who’s the host when they’re all guests.

The noise of it fades as Noya reaches him. Even as close as he comes, Asahi can’t read his expression. Which is disconcerting, because he used to be able to pinpoint every degree of emotion on that game-flushed face. Something’s struggling with the usual radiance. 

Maybe it’s just the unfamiliar setting.

The uncertainty is gone as fast as it came. Noya’s face opens back up into a half-smile. Tugging at the collar of his t-shirt to get some air flow, he says, “What did they do to you?”

“Well-”

Too slow stumbling over the molasses of his thoughts to rise and defend himself, he’s grateful when Kaori-oba says, “Yuuka-chan did a good job, right?”

“Yeah!” Noya nods, clearly impressed. His grin easily doubles the one in Kaori-oba’s voice. He gesticulates a little wildly at Asahi. “Yuuka-chan, you made him look like some Japanese, viking, warrior god!”

Yuuka giggles shyly. Asahi feels her pulls the end of one of his braids as she fumbles for a way to receive that compliment. Kaori-oba laughs too, her hand darting to cover her mouth. 

“Oh goodness,” Kaori-oba says, when the girl just keeps laughing. “I don’t know if that’s what we were going for, but I guess it’s a fitting description for such a handsome young man.” 

“Definitely.” 

How Noya can go from slightly-off to full confidence compliment-mode, how he can just say something like that and stand over them with his hands on his hips, Asahi will never be able to fathom. The eye-contact Noya offers him is fleeting, but intense in its admiration. Asahi’s gaze flails for another target. Fixes on Tanaka, who struts up and flops an arm casually over Noya’s shoulder. 

“Your intensity is a little much for the ladies, I think, Noya-san,” he says, winking briefly at Yuuka. 

And maybe Asahi’s mind is still a little slow. He finds himself a little appalled, a little impressed with the boy’s increased comfort at interacting with the opposite sex. 

If he recalls correctly from locker room chatter, Tanaka used to resort to practicing on its imaginary members. 

“Yeah and your ‘intensity’ is nothin’ to sneeze at!” Noya says, shoving Tanaka off of him. 

“I’m not hoverin’ over them with over-the-top compliments!” Tanaka laughs, starting back toward the court.

“I give exactly the right level of compliment depending on the situation!” Noya retorts, the color at the back of his neck a little higher than it already was at being called out. “I have a system!”

“I know, buddy…”

Noya, no doubt hyped on the adrenaline of winning the yet another set, tackles Tanaka again and rubs his knuckles over his friend’s buzzed head. “Asahi-san’s hairstyle’s awesome and you’re just jealous because you don’t have any hair ’n so they can’t do yours.”

“Oi!” Tanaka blushes, now. “I could have hair if I wanted…”

In a playful mimics, Noya says, “I know, buddy.”

One of the cousins shouts for Noya to serve. He lets Tanaka go and grins. And catches the ball thrown at him without taking his eyes off the fuming current-ace. 

Asahi is so lost in the friends’ interactions that it startles him when Yuuka pulls his hair again. 

“Nishinoya-san is pretty cute,” she says. Asahi’s neck cracks as he rotates back to her, only to see that Kaori-oba’s bobs her head in agreement. 

Asahi agrees, of course. Not out loud; all he can do out loud is stammer a half-response. He hopes the heat rushing to his face will pass for sunburn.

“Ah, the energy of youth. And that very last summer vacation,” Kaori-oba says, more than a little wistful. She raises her arms over her head to adjust her spine, clasping her hands on a high breath. “Asahi, will you help me get up again? I can’t stay sitting like this…”

At the same time, he hears, “Asahi-san! You playin’ or not??”

So Asahi helps his aunt—carefully, not with the haste the men on the court demand—and then rotates back in. The two women watch their handiwork during the next set, standing close to the sideline. 

***

Before the next set, Yuu swipes at his hair. At the mixture of sweat and sunscreen at the back of his neck. The longer layers are at least out of his eyes but the ponytail is starting to really not work for him. And there’s nothing he can do about his bangs. He resents having to waste valuable energy thinking about it. Things like why the underside seems all weighed down with sweat while other parts are staying put just fine. Like how wax—at least the stuff he buys—is pretty resistant to even a more strenuous volleyball match but helpless against a jump into a volatile body of water. Which was what ultimately cinched his decision to go without.

He also hates doing nothing with his hair, though. Has a certain coolness factor he likes to maintain no matter who’s going to be around. And the “who”s in this case are, actually, people he’d like to impress. If he can. The need to do so is so rare that it’s loud, in his head. Very. Taking up a lot of space. Along with his uncooperative queue. 

Yuu damns the whole endeavor under his breath. He scrapes his fingers through his half-damp hair and flicks the rubber band somewhere into the sand. 

He’d borrowed it from Asahi. He’ll just have to get him some new ones. Better ones. These ones are clearly inferior. 

That morning, Asahi’s cousin Takuya had started a stare down with Yuu and Asahi—and Ryuu, who’d been dropped off again by his sister. They’d arrived between the poles, a couple of the other cousins working to unroll the net they keep, unused for most of the year along with the rest of the beautiful, unused things in Housen-sama’s house. 

Takuya had eyed them suspiciously, excitedly, and said, “Show us what you’ve got.” 

The boy is the youngest of the cousins. The same age as Yuu, maybe a couple months younger. So Yuu hadn’t hesitated when he answered with a grin that even he could tell was half-feral. 

For most of his life, someone has had to tell Yuu to mind his expression for him to notice when it gets out of hand: lately, that’s Ryuu—or Aashi. But he’s usually just as bad, so he has no room to talk. But in front of Asahi’s family, Yuu has found for most of the week that he hadn’t wanted to mind his expression. Or mind much of anything else. Felt inauthentic.

So he’d said, “You want a demonstration? Or are you brave enough to join in?” 

Of course, it’s harder to challenge Azumane bravery in practice than in words. Let alone with uncooperative hair. 

Strike that—it’s hardest on unfamiliar turf. On sandy, unsure footing. 

There are different roles to fill here, with different players. None of whom he knows, except by story and stereotype. (Like Takuya, whose the typical combative crybaby. Challenging them and then crying wolf like Asahi’d broken his hand. And then making some sore-loserly comment under his breath about how maybe the Karasuno kids are a little too proud of themselves. Yikes.) 

At the very least, Yuu is pretty good with names. So he’s managed not to offend any of the cousins or aunts or uncles by confusing them one for another. He’s happy about that—but he knows it’s not enough.

“Noya!”

“Nishinoya-san!”

Yuu hears the various renditions of his own name and blinks. He looks up. “Alright!”

He gets under the ball and executes a perfect receive. Textbook. He’d like to say he has a little something to do with it—but, distracted as he is, it’s one hundred percent instinct. 

And Ryuu, who’s on his team this set, notices.

“Get it together, Noya-san!” he says over his shoulder, when he lands in the sand after spiking the ball into the ground on the other side of the net. 

“Sorry!” Yuu calls out. 

But he doesn’t get it together, not entirely. It’s unlike him. They’re just playing; but they are playing. He’s always on the court to kick ass and take names—he’s ready to take Takuya’s in particular—but maybe that’s just it. There are too many new names. 

The ball flies over to the other side. Comes back to them. Kenta-san, on their side, makes an easy return. And while the ball hovers, a dual-color disk the size of the sun overhead, Noya closes his eyes against it. Takes a breath, aware of the slide of air over every square inch of his tongue, his throat, his lungs. When he exhales, he lets his shoulders drop. Opens his eyes. Then he sinks deep into a position that feels right, despite the lumps of sand under his feet, despite the wind rushing over every hair on his body and screwing with the angle of the ball’s return.

Ready.

Ready enough to see that it’s Asahi who’s approaching from the other side of the net. 

Asahi sees that Yuu has snapped back to himself just before he jumps. The grit of his teeth looks a little like a smile as he spikes the ball right in his direction. 

Yuu answers with a blatant grin of his own. This receive is beautiful, he can tell—sent directly to Kenta, who’s inexperienced but perfectly positioned to dump the ball over the net and into the sand. 

The three players on the other team all groan.

Yuu cackles. He maintains eye contact with Asahi as he speaks, even though he’s ostensibly talking to Ryuu as he shakes out his wrists. “Almost forgot how fucking strong he is!”

“We could use that,” Ryuu says. Yuu turns to him to see his evil smirk. “They haven’t let us play together yet. Did ya notice?” 

“Guessin’ it’s for a reason.” Yuu matches the gin. “I like how you think.”

Ryuu nods deeply. “Yep. Can’t blame ‘em—who wouldn’t be afraid of the crows reunited?” 

“Fuck yes.” Louder, Yuu shouts, “If we win this set, we get Asahi!”

The cousins on the other side of the net—and Kenta-san—mumble with displeasure. Someone growls, “So you’re gonna have two high-school ace volleyball players and some award-winning whatever you call it-” 

“Libero,” he and Ryuu supply.

“-right, anyway, you three against a bunch of novices?”

Yuu repeats, “Only if we win. You have the home court advantage! Otherwise, we. Get. Asahi.” 

He’d been tacking “-san” onto Asahi’s name since they got to this beach. Now he’s forgotten. Twice. But he does’t take it back.

***

The crows do play his cousins—for a brief, brutal set that lasts about ten points. 

And then, apologetic (no matter the pride that flutters in his chest), Asahi buys them all sodas from a convenience store up the way. Noya and Tanaka insist on going with him. Not that he minds. Neither of them brought a wallet, and they preen loudly all the way there and all the way back. But Asahi doesn’t care about either of those things as much as his protests would suggest. It’s only propriety, after all, and they’re out of earshot from his family.

“I’ll pay you back tonight, Asahi, I swear!” Noya says—clearly lacking the filter it would take to catch the double-meaning that he and Tanaka do. Asahi and Tanaka catch one another’s blush, though, and they way they look away from one another seems orchestrated.

Tanaka clears his throat. “I think Nee-san wants to do karaoke with you guys on Friday night; I’ll pay you back then. In alcohol.” 

Noya lightens even further—if that were possible.

He’s so happy, in fact, that even though they’re relatively alone for the first time in several hours, Asahi doesn’t want to interrupt it. Let alone with questions about whether he was imaging the darkness in Noya’s expression he thought he’d seen earlier. 

After they return to the beach and they all drink their spoils, the Azumane men rip off their shirts and run to the shore, no heed paid to the scattered seashells and rocks. The crows follow. Quieted by sugar and then salt, they all bask in the water for a long, pleasant hour. 

Bask—and splash—and race each other—and try to outdo the others in how long they can hold their breath. Asahi isn’t surprised when he wins this contest, and more than once. His broader build has to account for some kind of extra lung capacity, right? 

The afternoon light is just mellow enough to lure each of them into a false sense of having all the time in the world. But when their shadows start to shift over the blue-green, the light on the waves increasing in drama, they get restless. They head back to the shore, barely needing to fight against the soft protest of the surf. 

One of his cousins calls for the ball as they approach the net; Yuuka is standing there, trying to bounce it over. Her form isn’t great, but it’s obvious she’s been paying attention. She throws the ball up high—then, in a facsimile of the right position, she makes a platform of her arms and tries to bump it over.

“How do you guys get it to go right where you want it to be??” she asks, watching in dismay as the ball sails right at the net and then veers off in an unexpected direction. “You make it look easy…”

Noya gets to the ball first—he’s always been stupidly fast. “It is! Or it can be. Has anyone ever showed you how, Yuuka-chan?”

He sends her an easy toss. Asahi thinks it must be more nerves at Noya’s straightforwardness than actual clumsiness on her part, but she stumbles over the catch and the answer. “N-no…”

“And you’ve been out here how many times? Here, throw it back to me.” 

She chucks the ball forward, a two-handed push. It lands squarely in his open hands. “Sorry for the trouble.”

“Hardly. At least your depth perception doesn’t suck.” Clicking his tongue, Noya tilts his head and eyes her carefully. Asahi knows he must be sorting her mentally—agility, build, strength. He also knows that Noya is too absorbed in this process to hear Takashi remark behind them that if he didn’t know better, he’d interpret that as flirting.

Asahi doesn’t have time to turn back and glare. 

“W-well I used to play basketball for my middle school team but I got too busy, so…”

“Great! Yeah I guess you’re kinda tall for your age, huh…” Noya takes the ball with one hand and sets it against the forearm of the other. “You don’t really want to hit it with your hands, ever. More like, bam, in the middle here. Get it? Ready to try again?”

“Okay.”

Yuuka breathes out, and folds her hands together, gets into position. Her dark eyes go surprisingly intense—the way all their family’s eyes can, deep-set as they tend to be. Noya tosses the ball up; and her eyes track the two-tone sphere with deadly precision.

But while she hits it with the right part of her forearms, she hits it wildly off-course. 

“Pretty good!” Noya laughs and has to reach overhand to scoop the ball out of the air before it goes flying off again. His landing is graceful enough to cover it. “But maybe it’s a good thing these guys’ve left it to the professionals…”

Asahi, who’d been watching Noya interact with his cousin with growing admiration, can’t help but cover his snort of a chuckle with a cough. “Professionals?”

Tanaka’s response is less kind. He barks out a laugh. “Noya-san, all due respect, but you are a terrible teacher. How can you explain to her what to do when you move on pure instinct?” 

“Hey!” Noya bares his teeth at his friend. The wrinkled bridge of his nose is pink—and Asahi can’t tell whether it’s sunburn or flush. “I thought I was doin’ pretty good…”

“Better than the last time you tried to teach someone how to receive, anyway, I guess. Poor clueless Hinata.”

Asahi and Tanaka join in, and they all help Yuuka practice just enough that she decides she wants to try a game. Just as they’re about to configure a new set of teams, maybe play four-on-four, his aunt shouts from the sidelines. Asahi is relaxed enough by their time in water and the ease of beginner volleyball moves that he doesn’t even startle at the noise; he hears its high joy, and his eyes are pulled in her direction by her mad waving. He watches with no little amusement as Kaori scrambles up from her beach towel and runs (as gracefully as may) be over several yards of sand. Three women her age are there, gathered on the paved walkway in the distance, waving back. 

“Kaori-obachan’s friends!” Yuuka says, dropping the ball. With an unapologetic smirk, she says over her shoulder, “You boys better be ready to show off for us.” 

She turns and runs after the woman. 

Their volleyball game starts, but doesn’t get far. Between rallies, most of the men are too busy trying to covertly take in in the sight of the women, brushing past the makeshift court and chattering like colorful sandbirds. Asahi shies away from them—the women, and the men.

In fact, for his part, he’s trying very hard not to notice any bodies at all. Now, he’s acutely aware of how directed everyone’s gaze has become. How… half-dressed everyone is. It’s all a little too intimate for a guy whose history is with a sport where everyone is wearing collared shirts. 

It’s his serve; it falls directly between Tanaka and Makoto on the other side of the net. Their necks all but crane at an awkward angle to take in the sight of the women as his aunt turns back to them and waves.   
“We’re heading down the shore to walk! Follow us later if you want!”

The court goes silent. A couple of the cousins shuffle, and they collectively decide to break for water. Then they make a beeline for the shore, a couple pulling up next to the women in their walk south.

Next to Tanaka, Noya knocks an elbows into his side. “Dude, Nee-san has older friends and they’ll be here in an hour. Thirsty much?” 

Tanaka shoves him aside and does not break his wandering gaze from its target. “Yeah, man, but these women are like… sophisticated. Not the kind you usually see in swimsuits.”

Noya nods sagely and crosses his arms. “You’re right, your sister’s age group kinda makes it easy to ogle ‘em- ow!”

So no, Asahi’s eyes don’t follow the women as they all walk down the beach. But since now everybody’s gazes and feet are wandering and he has no particular point of focus, his eyes do flit over the sand and land, inevitably, on his boyfriend. 

Noya hadn’t put his t-shirt back on after their interlude in the water. He’d been wearing it during the first set of games because he apparently “burns like a motherfucker.” But, now his skin is exposed. And Asahi can see that there is a line of fresh bruises trailing down his side, over his hip, and disappearing under the low line of his swim trunks. Asahi doesn’t know where they came from. He wonders. They’re stark against his pale skin. Distracting.

Noya, who is closer than Asahi realized now that Tanaka has walked forward a few paces ahead, pivots suddenly to him.

“Hey, do you have a type?”

He isn’t quiet about the question—well, quiet enough that the women won’t hear, and it probably won’t sound out of place to anyone else. But Asahi feels his shoulders drawn inward.

“Ah, I don’t know…”

“Like, that girl at the shop from a few months ago was cute, but I wouldn’t say she’s exactly my type, you know.” 

“Ooh, the one with all the piercings you talked about??” Tanaka all but crows. He starts to hang back again, happy to join in any conversation about girls not his sister. 

Asahi lowers his voice as he answers, trying to ensure only Noya can hear. “I… I’ve never really figured out if I like… Um. If I’m attracted to women, you know, and right now it doesn’t really matter I guess… So… Why, do you have a type?”

Asahi hears himself go quiet and rambling as Tanaka draws into line with them. He looks down, watches his feet slide over the sand. His hands hover at his waist, a little unsure where to go. He’s only a little surprised when Noya raps him on the shoulder to get him to look up, to loosen up his posture. 

“Don’t trip. You know you’ll always be my favorite, Asahi.”

Asahi offers him a self-depreciating smile, his eyes lifting to see that Tanaka is blushing—probably as much at the sheer truth in Noya’s voice as at what he says. 

Asahi asks, “Even more than piercing-shop-girl?”

Noya waves his dismissal. “Please, the two of you next to each other. She was cute but not gorgeous.”

“If you say so.” 

Brushing his gaze quickly over Noya’s lithe, compact frame, taking in the easy way he carries himself—with total disregard for any strange moments the day may have held—Asahi thinks he might have a thing or two to say about the definition of gorgeous. But it’s too easy to make such an observation in a place like this, the sunlight turning golden and a decadently slow evening ahead. Not to mention that now is definitely not the time. 

A few moments later, Noya adds, “Ryuu, you should go to the shop, actually. Try to say hi to shop-girl-san.”

“Oi, I don’t want anyone’s seconds,” Tanaka pouts. But then he says, “So what was her type…?”

“Definitely the wild type. You’d have it in the bag, dude.”

Amused as the best friends start plotting their next outing, Asahi asks Noya, “What about Shimizu?”

Looking a little thrown by his non sequitur, Noya quirks his head and asks, “What about her?” 

“Isn’t she your favorite?”

“Oooh, tread carefully dude.” 

Noya glares at Tanaka. Pauses, thinks for a second. Then, with a wink, he amends his previous statement, “Kiyoko-san is a goddess. So you’ll always be my favorite mortal, how’s that?”

“Noya-san, how do you always know exactly what to say??”

Asahi thinks he should find the whole exchange outrageous. Instead, his chest full of sea air and his head full of the soft ease of vacation life, he just finds it endearing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Chapter Title: In Which Everyone is Surprisingly Concerned with Their Hair.
> 
> Necessary POV switch in the middle here; couldn't quite get everything i needed in without doing it. Also DID YOU NOTICE THAT ASAHI CALLS YACHI “YACCHAN” IN S2 BECAUSE I SURE DID. During the BBQ episode. So I had to include it.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and for any kudos and comments! I'm so happy that a few of you seem to be enjoying yourselves. :D Please feel free to let me know what you think.


	6. In Which Asahi is Dating a Barnacle

“We’re gonna go down to the water again today, right?”

“Mmhm.”

“And there’s karaoke with your cousins later, right?”

“Mmmmhm.”

“And everyone’s probably too wiped from yesterday for more volleyball?”

“Think so.”

Sprawled over the other end of the futon, Noya shifts, reaches out and pokes him in the side. “Aaaasahi.”

Asahi glances around his book, down his body to where Noya lay. He tries to look more stern than he feels. He doesn’t actually mind the interruption, but it’s still early; the house is quiet, the overcast of the sky outside not quite dissipated. They’ve already had breakfast; Takashi and Makoto are still finishing up in the kitchen, and the two of them have a blessed moment of calm before everyone else starts clambering for activity.

Apparently, though, nowhere between Noya’s two settings of “asleep” and “intense” is there a neutral “quiet time” option.

He can feel his lips pull with an indulgent smile when he says, “Are you asking because there was something else you wanted to do today?”

“Hmm, nope.” Noya looks back to the manga he’s reading, running a hand over his hair absently. He muses out loud, “Just if we’re swimming again it’s pointless to do this up. But I didn’t really do a very good job of tying it back, yesterday.”

“…Want me to help?”

Noya’s face lights up. “Oh yeah, I probably should’ve asked you to start with!”

He tosses his paperback aside and all but pounces on Asahi, who is halfway to rising into a sitting position and grunts at the extra weight. Noya is heavier than he looks. (Especially when reinforced by momentum—which in his case is usually considerable.) But it takes little effort for Asahi to scoop him back against his chest so they’re back to front, and for Asahi to then lean forward over the other, digging his chin against the soft, still sleep-warm skin between neck and shoulder.

“Hair tie?” he asks, as the libero squirms—delight mixed with a ticklish jump.

Noya reaches smoothly for one of the arms around his middle and snaps the black band around Asahi’s wrist. “You always have an extra one.”

“Oh.”  

Despite their difference in height and build, they’ve always worked well together physically. From the very first time they played volleyball on the same side of the net, their nonverbal communication has been strong—and made easier because Asahi is constantly on guard for nuance, and Noya telegraphs his every cue. Bad for fencing, maybe, but good for working as a team. And great in a relationship.

So it’s comfortable to inch back a little, settle so Noya is sitting just off his lap, between his thighs. Asahi brushes the blunt ends of his fingers through Noya’s hair—just for a moment, in appreciation of the clean, silky stands—before he starts pulling it up into a shape that stands a chance at surviving another day of ocean wind and wave.

“It’s actually longer than it looks when it’s up.”

It is. And there’s a lot of it. He knows whatever Noya uses on a day-to-day basis is kind of expensive but it must also have some kind of magic power to hold all this up.

“I guess.” Noya shrugs. “Probably don’t cut it as often as I should. Though I think you’re worse than me on that one—I know you’ve got split ends.”

“And if you do, no one would notice.” Asahi deftly dodges the the criticism—barely noticing it as such, in fact—and continues to run his fingers through the layers. “You’re barely ever standing still long enough for anyone to notice those kind of details.”

Noya laughs. “Next time you want to gawk just let me know and I’ll… try to slow down.”

Neither of them find that convincing. Asahi takes in Noya’s voice, the way it orbits up a little like the very idea of slowing down puts gravity out of order; and from the crescent of Noya’s face he can see, he takes in the barely-there sheepishness in the other’s expression.

His hands keep working while he trails his eyes over every bit of Noya he can see. He doesn’t usually stare—Noya always notices and his eye contact, no matter how knowing, makes Asahi feel guilty—but for now, from this vantage point, it’s a delight to take it all the details. At least for now, Noya is still enough that Asahi can appreciate each one.

That it’s a transient stillness makes it all the more of a privilege.

Without all the product, Noya’s hair is soft and surprisingly light between Asahi’s fingers. He forgets, it’s that rare, how cute Noya looks with it down. How much less vaguely alarming—though there is plenty of room for appreciating that, in its own way. The bleach job is imperfect, too, from this close up, creeping back to touch a few unconnected strands. It isn’t all that surprising, given that Noya does it himself.  
Where they rest over his bent knees, Noya’s forearms are thin but sinewy, like the rest of him. Delicate wrists and hands, draped casually there, belong in some kind of artwork. Probably a Renaissance painting, Asahi decides. That might be the only medium able to do justice to the delicacy of line—so pretty at rest, downright gorgeous when animated.

But at least with a painting, he could sit down and study it. How Noya manages to be all fluid movements and theatrics, purpose and instinct rolled together. Then again, add some Caravaggian lighting and Asahi might not survive the impact.

Noya lets out what he probably intends as a warning sound, at Asahi’s continued toying with the strands of hair. Though the noise is more a vibration, a purr than anything else. “You take much more time on this and we’re gonna have a problem.”

Asahi goes warm. “S-sorry. I think I’ve got most of it.”

As he scrabbles to get the hair tie off his wrist and into the hair he’s gathered, Noya says, “That. And, if someone comes in here and sees you playin’ with my hair, the adults will definitely hear about it and they will definitely Not Approve.”

Asahi feels himself frown. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing!”

The breadth of hesitation before the word, barely as wide as a blade of grass through the concrete, is the only sign that Noya is lying. Or if not lying, at least offering less than his typical artlessness. In fact by now, he’s probably convinced himself that it is nothing—he’s good at that, the recovery—but it still leaves Asahi wondering, and promises him no satisfaction for the niggling curiosity.

Sometimes Asahi can get it out of him if he comes back with something contrary. Most of the time this gets him nothing but a blank reaction, as if the ace himself is the one that’s missing a piece of the conversation—and not Noya who left it out on purpose and then promptly lost it to the dust of memory. But sometimes…

Asahi goes with contrary.

Deliberately, he pulls the hair tie out and pulls the gather of hair together again, reworking it into the exact same semblance of order it was in before. “If they already disapprove I might as well keep at it, right?”

Noya goes very still. He waits until Asahi lets go, until he has tugged down one more time on the tie and then abandoned the queue to its own will. Only then does he crane his neck over his shoulder to look Asahi square in the face.

Asahi has to try harder than he thought he would not to grin at the unfamiliar silhouette, the shape of Noya’s hair reminding him little of a bird in this moment. He manages, though, and they stare at each other with equal suspicion.

Then one of Noya’s eyebrows goes up.

“That wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

“…What wouldn’t?”

“To do something because someone else disapproves.” Noya says. He twists even further—damn is he ever flexible—so he can flick his fingers through Asahi’s hair and draw a thumb over his piercing. “For example. I kinda think you did this because your mom doesn’t approve.”

Asahi catches his breath, and then Noya’s his hand. “Not because she doesn’t. Despite the fact that she doesn’t.”

“Hm?”

“It’s childish to do something _because_ she disapproves; I’m not trying to spite her.”

Noya raises his other eyebrow now, too, but doesn’t say anything.

“Or I mean I wasn’t. At the time. And I’m not now!” Backing down a little, Asahi sighs. “Anyway. That sounded harsh, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine! Correct me, what do I know?”

Noya looks surprisingly happy about not knowing. Or perhaps about the process of finding out.

Or perhaps it’s that he knows Asahi was playing a game of chicken, and he didn’t end up having to give up a thing. While Asahi, on the other hand…

It had felt surprisingly honest, like a confession, when he’d said, “I’m not trying to spite her.” Present tense. As if he had some reason to be defensive: some reason to suppose someone else would think he is trying to spite his mother.

Relenting, he tucks a stubbornly short strand of hair back behind Noya’s ear and smiles at him. “Why don’t you go find a mirror and tell me if you think it’s okay.”

Noya gets up and bounds to the doorway, the conversation’s weight seeming to fall from his shoulders as easy as the act of standing. Asahi gives himself until he crosses the threshold after him, to replay the heft of it in his head.

Vacation brings out all kinds of observations, he supposes.  
  
***  
  
“Where are the caverns?” Kaori-oba asks.

She’s got one hand over her five-months pregnant belly. Asahi has more than once had the urge to reach out to steady her; but she places her feet expertly between the rocks of the tide pools. She’d insisted on exploring the area with the group of male cousins—who, she complained, would no doubt soon abandon her and her two-year-old at the siren call of the water. (She wasn’t to swim, out of caution for the riptide.) The toddler had been with the grandparents yesterday, and she hadn’t had to worry. She had brought a few of her female friend along again: this time, not only in readiness of being abandoned by her nephews, but to help her watch Haruki. They were half upholding their end of that bargain, half indulging the antics of the Azumane men—as they had yesterday, when the group had included Noya and Tanaka. Asahi hadn’t failed to notice that the best friends had picked a favorite: the 150cm twenty-something, all wavy brown hair and generously curvy, also present today.

(Noya had acknowledged that though she was adorable, she just wasn’t his type. He genuinely did prefer taller people.)

“Asahi?”

He blinks at Kaori-oba’s call of his name, which was clearly not the first. “Sorry. The caverns? Are you sure it’s alright for you to go in?”

She smiles indulgently. “Yes, I’ll be fine. Though I’m guessing they’re not the most interesting thing on this beach.”

Asahi squints into the sun. “Why, did I miss something better in the guidebook…?”

Kaori-oba laughs outright—and then Asahi nearly goes careening into the tide pool beside them when a hard, warm weight catches him in the back and wraps itself insistently around him. But he catches his balance, widening his stance. Gingerly, he wraps his hands around the two thin forearms crushed against his neck.

“Whoa, nice save, Asahi!”

It’s Kenta’s voice, and then Kenta’s cropped black hair and sunburnt face that he can focus in on when the center of his vision goes steady again.

Kaori-oba asks, “Nice… What do you say in volleyball, something in English?”

Noya’s laugh is loud by his ear, and it trips Asahi into an unwitting chuckle of his own. “Nice receive.” To the sheepish smile at his aunt and his cousin, he adds a quieter, “Noya, why.”

It’s not a question. And he doesn’t expect anything other than legs entwining more firmly around him and an exuberant “Do I need a reason?”—which is exactly the answer he gets.

“No, you don’t—you’ll get away with it because you’re small!”

He wishes he could say that he only hears this statement after it’s on the salt wind, out of his mouth and his control; but the truth is it isn’t the first time he’s said something flippant, something he doesn’t really mean, in the face of how strongly Noya comes on, and it probably won’t be the last. Still, Asahi winces. It’s reflex—the defensive remark, and his reaction to his own defensiveness.

But he knows it’s needless. Noya’s shrug confirms that, the points of his shoulders digging into Asahi’s back. In his voice, Asahi can hear that Noya is smirking at Asahi’s obvious inner turmoil. Louder than Asahi had spoken, he says, “You can see in crowds. I can become a barnacle at will. Perks on either end of the spectrum!”

Two years earlier Noya wouldn’t have been so forgiving. He would have tried to fight him, Asahi is almost certain; but now, Noya is past being offended at his boyfriend’s occasional unthinking remarks regarding his height.

Asahi also knows he shouldn’t set that kind of example for his family—none of whom are covered by the boyfriend privilege.

So he says, very quietly, “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“’S fine, don’t worry about it.”

Noya squeezes tight before he loosens his limbs and slides off Asahi’s back.

“I guess it would be kinda lazy of me to make you carry me _all_ the way to those caverns you’re supposed to show us.”

He pounds Asahi’s back in a way that probably passes for fraternal before he’s off like a fickle storm, again—joining one of the friends who is watching Kaori-oba’s son. Kaori-oba heads off in their direction, while Kenta pulls up to walk shoulder to shoulder with Asahi.

“Seriously, cuz, what is that like?” Seeing Asahi’s confusion, he amends, “Not the gay thing, just… Seems like he would be a handful.”

Taking a second longer than he needs to unruffle his feathers, Asahi bites at his lower lip. He knows Kenta doesn’t mean anything by what he says, in fact he’s the last one here who would, being the self-appointed protector of the rest of the Azumane clan.

Asahi hums. Then, deciding on honesty, he says, “It’s a little like licking a 9-volt battery. If you’ve ever tried that.”

Raising one eyebrow with a chuckle, Kenta asks, “Have you?”

Asahi inwardly deflates in remembered embarrassment; memories of middle school are not kind, and despite appearances, he didn’t always run with a nice crowd. But he manages to plaster a flat grin onto his face. “The point is, you can’t know what it’s like until you’re in that moment. You can anticipate; you can mentally talk yourself into being ready. But when you try, it’s… startling. It’s literal electric shock. And a little confusing how you’ll want to keep repeating the experience.”

“Eeeh,” Kenta says, not without admiration. “So exhausting but worth it?”

Asahi shrugs. “If you want to do away with the metaphors.”

“Not a chance, Poet-san,” his cousin says, whacking Asahi lightly over the shoulders. “Teach me how to talk like that about romance and maybe I’ll have a chance at keeping a girl around as long as you’ve kept your little barnacle.”

“My wh- Is that going to be a thing, now!?” Asahi steps quickly after Kenta as he makes his way down the other side of the path along the a low cliff.

“Kaori-oba’s baby is forevermore ‘The Jellyfish’—and that delightful monicker came from a two-year-old. What, do you not expect me to use this one when Nishinoya-kun said it himself?”

Asahi winces. “Sure, and he’ll probably be thrilled but… does Kaori-oba know that her baby is now an invertebrate…?”

Kenta walks swiftly, grinning down the path and shouting over his shoulder at Asahi. “You should have warned him that this family forgets nothing!”

From down the path, Asahi hears Noya first. Sees him after clearing a large outcropping of stone; he’s kneeling down, showing something—a starfish, maybe, judging by the bright color—to the toddler. Haruki touches it, and then shrieks, runs, and comes back to touch it a second time. Noya laughs at this. Then he’s putting the sea creature down and grabbing Haruki around the middle, turning him in a tight circle—a little precarious for Asahi’s taste; though Kaori-oba is merely glancing over the scene, smiling as she continues navigating the rocks.

Still, he rushes to pluck Haruki from Noya’s hands (“Aw, he was having fun!” The screams of delight, and then of protest, do nothing to refute this point.) so he can deposit the child with his mother. Kaori-oba accepts the scrambling mass of skin and sand like a pro, shifting him over her hip.

Then Noya is looking up at him. “So what was Kenta-san saying about me?”

Feeling himself go hot under his bun, Asahi says, “Nevermind, Nishinoya!”

Kaori-oba grins, clearly seeing the fight or flight in Asahi’s eyes, and calls to the rest of the group. “Well, the ocean’s right there and the caverns are still a ways away. Who’s up for a race to cool off? I’ll be referee!”

The group of cousins holler and run past her—well, run as best they can, picking their way around the boulders and toward the surf. They remove shirts as they go.

It takes everything in Asahi’s power not to click his tongue when Kenta runs past Kaori-oba, pats her stomach, and says, “How’s the jellyfish?”

She snorts and shoves him one handed—and from her hip, Haruki looks pleased to be in on such a game—as he runs off toward the group diving under the surf.

Asahi pivots toward the group, himself. He’s half-surprised to see Noya is still there, waiting for him, standing with one foot braced sideways against a rock like it’s a starting block—but also looking like he wants to extend a hand to Asahi and pull him along. He doesn’t, and Asahi wonders a little at the restraint; Noya is flicking the fingers at his sides against the bright neon of his swim trunks, and Asahi can pick out the nylon scratch even over the shouting, the surf, and the seagulls above.

And he wishes, just a little, that Noya had let him take him piggyback for a while, his heartbeat against Asahi’s back, grounding him.

But he settles for brushing close as he walks past the other boy, gripping his shoulder for just a moment—before they sprint all out to the shore, together.  
  
***  
  
They are soaked to their scalps, half-blinded from the long afternoon’s glare of sun on seawater—and thoroughly happy. The day dissolves into evening like the salt has dissolved into their skin. Nearly touching, they hug the line where the sand and water meet, and the evening expands from the dichromatic gold and blue to a wider swath of color, from action and urgency to a now-familiar intimacy—one that has been burgeoning between them since March.

They’re also walking alone, Noya walking between Asahi and the tide. Asahi fidgets self-consciously with the silver ring in his ear. He feels around; his hair, long escaped from the bun he put it in to swim, is hopelessly tangled in it, and he almost wishes for his braids from yesterday. He tries to pull a few pieces through and rearrange the long, brown strands behind his ear. Although he normally doesn’t care if his bangs cover it, right now, he wants it to be visible.

He thinks about what Noya said about it this morning. And he thinks about how, without the earring, they might not be here together at all.

What was it about it that had moved his mother into extending this summer’s invitation to Noya?

“Okay, you have to stop doin’ that.”

Asahi jumps a little, his shoulders raising in instinct as he turns his head. He lets the shock disengage him from his introspection. “Doing what?”

He can’t tell if the raised color on Noya’s face is entirely from the sun setting beyond the mountains to their left or if his boyfriend is actually blushing. Either way, Noya purses his lips a little in mild annoyance. “It should be obvious by now, but your hair and that stupid earring are my weaknesses. And if you don’t stop playing with them you’ll have no one to blame but yourself when I jump you right here on this beach.”

It takes him a moment to catch up. But then he smiles, slowly. “Oh? Again?”

Noya clears his through. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do.” The sand is getting cold under their feet as Asahi turns to Noya fully. Only a little shyly, he asks, “Would you? Do something like that?”

Under any other circumstances, Asahi would die of shame at asking a question like that under the open sky. But this twilight and Noya’s now obvious flush is doing things to his sense of reserve.

Noya grins with no trace of self-consciousness and says, “You know I would.”

Asahi scans the shore, briefly. Then he puts his hands on Noya’s shoulder and backs them both up into the surf. The unexpected cold rises higher up Noya’s shins than his own. As the libero’s mouth opens around a gasp, Asahi descends upon it, catching and then deepening the kiss without further warning.

It isn’t the first kiss he’s been brave enough to share with Noya on this beach. But most of the others have been relegated to the few moments they’ve found themselves alone. By necessity, they’ve been brief, tentative. This is nothing that careful. And he finds he could get used to the taste of salt. Could learn to love the grit of sand wherever their skin touches. Even though he supposes it’s one of those things that sounds like it should be gross until you’re in it. And now he’s in it, Asahi doesn’t care that one of the hands sliding into his hair had definitely been smattered with tar and gods knew what from the tide pools. That the other hand scraping up his back is all clammy from salt water. And he is more than fine with it when Noya cranes his neck back to allow Asahi to slide his tongue alone the roof of his mouth—even if the movement dips them almost dangerously back toward the surf.

Asahi notices how dark it’s becoming, but he is determined not to break away until Noya does. Just when he thinks he’s going to have to intervene to prevent them both from developing hypothermia, Noya pulls back with a smile that seems to reverse the sunset. He hangs off Asahi’s shoulders, digging his fingers in, his eyes joyful crescents.  

“I like Vacation Asahi,” he says, simply.

Scrambling for a return to that compliment, Asahi lands on _Me too_ , and then revises it to _You too_ , and then tries to rephrase it entirely so it’s actually a reflected endearment and not a scrabble of words over unsure footing. Eventually, he decides it’s worth leaving alone, and answers with a smile and a nod.  

They walk for an unknowable length of time, Asahi’s words and sense of the hour both lost to the sensation of skin, of salt, of sand, before someone shouts at them to _come join the group, they’re going home to change, they’re going to be late_.

Even when they reunite with his cousins, aunt, and her friends, Noya does not hide how smug he is.  Or maybe Asahi only sees the smugness because he’s oversensitive—and the cause.

Some of his cousins are chatting about their karaoke plans. Someone mentions that it’s Friday night, and it’s sure to be busy, and that’s lucky for them, and…

And the date occurs to Asahi suddenly.

August 11th of the year before had been the first day of qualifiers for his last Spring Tournament. That date sticks in his mind. Probably because it had been circled in red on everyone’s calendars. But the next week or so, the week where both he and Noya had each come to private realizations: that they had been spending just a little more time together, that the enforced closeness of the Tokyo training camp had become—or had unearthed—something permanent, that Asahi had been a little freer physically around Noya, his shoulder-patting all but becoming shoulder-gripping, that Noya had been even more bold about asking Asahi to practice one-on-one… and then, finally, the day that Noya had burst out that it he couldn’t stand it anymore, none of it, and more than that it was cowardly to pretend they didn’t see it… When had that explosion of feeling and impatience hit him like pyroclastic flow?

“Hey, um… Isn’t this technically our anniversary?” he asks. “Or I mean, one day this week? Wasn’t it the middle of August?”

He knew if he said anything, it would sound overly romantic and corny. But it had felt brave, so he forgives himself for the ramble, and how it had gotten less and less specific to draw attention away from how very specific he wants to be.

Anyway, Noya’s answering grin is mostly amused. “I don’t really remember the date. Didn’t have it on the calendar or anything.”

“No, I figured.” Asahi allows a slight laugh. Pressing his hands together and watching his knuckles turn white, he continues, “When you finally told me, you seemed like you were more fed up not saying anything than you were following through on any kind of plan.”

“Uh huh.” At that tone, Asahi looks up. He’s a little afraid that Noya, who makes a little bit of a face, might’ve taken that for criticism when it’s only an observation. “Anyway how do you remember?”

“Well, because of the timing. It was the end of summer break, and that’s usually a melancholy time.”

“A what??” Asahi had opened his mouth to explain the sensation but Noya cuts in, “Don’t define it for me, I know what you mean. But why? Isn’t this supposed to be a time you can get the most out of, while ya can?”

Asahi nods. “Probably. But it’s like… like the weather is symbolic. You’re tired and hot and ready for cooler weather, but when the temperature finally starts to go down it feels more like letdown than relief.” He look subtly at Noya, who is watching him with as much direct attention as he’d ever paid him in a match. So intense he can almost see himself reflected in those eyes. It spurts him to honesty. “And… I always think about how vacation will end, it won’t be long before we become so busy again, that maybe any rest we got won’t have helped. I’m not exactly my best when overwhelmed, and it’s hard not to obsess over that.”

Noya waits a few seconds—to make sure he’s done, Asahi thinks. Then he sighs—blatantly—at Asahi, but he reaches for Asahi’s hand. Asahi glances up the cliff, where his cousins are scattered in their walk back to the house. He isn’t sure if any of them will glance back toward the beach at the remnants of the sunset, the red and orange slashes of light that make even the pale skin at the inside of Noya’s proffered forearm look gold, incandescent. Actually he wouldn’t blame anyone for looking back, given the great vantage point. But even the risk of watching eyes doesn’t stop him from taking the grip offered.

“You giant dweeb, of course you would think of it that way.”

Noya squeezes his hand when he says it—and Asahi laughs. He trails off, trying to quiet the “Hey!” that is his response as he squeezes back.

“Let’s just make some great memories so you can’t think about all that, ‘kay?”

Asahi shies away from the earnestness in Noya’s eyes. And he bites his lower lip to keep Noya from seeing that it’s less steady than it should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Completely self indulgent chapter of conversation and imagery. Next chapter, there will be karaoke. And more Saeko and Tanaka. :)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to comment and let me know what you think.


	7. In Which Asahi Appreciates His Boyfriend (But Karaoke, Not So Much)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some description of anxiety / hypersensitivity in this chapter. If you want to skip it:
> 
> Stop reading at: And though he pleads with it not to  
> Control+F and read starting at: “Asahi! There you are

Asahi has gotten so used to the beach. To the easy setting, the conflicting but somehow congruent stimuli of wave and wind, sand and sweat, gulls crying and people shouting. So he thinks: _isn’t it understandable_? A little defensive, sure. But isn’t it understandable, that this new setting takes a moment to register as anything other than “too much”?

He takes in the low and shifting light, the humid air, and the press of bodies with suspicion.

It looks to be One Of Those Establishments.

He has the experience to know, but it’s not like he’s collected it on purpose. There are twenty-year-olds in the humanities department at the vocational school, and, in all their bad-poetry-writing, knowing-what-they-want-out-of-life-as-much-as-he-does-which-is-to-say-not-at-all way, they have adopted him as one of their own. (Some of the nineteen-year-olds, too, have adopted him—but for his beard, he’s ninety percent sure. Which is exactly why the twenty-year-olds never feel guilty about the utter lack of ID checking on any of these outings.)

So suffice to say, for an eighteen-year-old, Asahi has been to a lot of bars. For a twenty-year-old, it would be very few. Yet somewhere between those two averages, he has had enough experience—for a lifetime, he thinks—to know that he is not particularly fond of Those Establishments. The loud sort, with more yelling than conversation, and with the music so loud, so deep in the bones it ceases to be sound. Ceases even to vibrate through the chest, and instead cuts directly into him, each beat surgically precise.

Then again, this is karaoke, so he might have expected it.

“Azumane!”

Asahi jumps—but the voice isn’t calling to him. One of his cousins—Takuya—claps him on the shoulder in passing, running to the caller and yelling that he’s expecting a beer and a certain Granrodeo song. That last comment has a few members of the group of cousins groaning.

Someone comments, “Do you get all your music recs from that anime shit you watch? Dude, we’re too old…”

Takuya shoves the speaker good-naturedly. “Not if you have good taste, plebeian-”

Music starts up answer from the stage. Not Takuya’s request, yet—the big group is still standing near the doorway—but some crooning ballad from the 80s. In less time than it takes for the pickup measure to creak its way from the speakers to the crowd, every older gentleman in the bar is clapping or pounding the table in recognition. It’s an impressive show given there aren’t many of them left; it’s nearly eleven and the crowd is decidedly young and rowdy.

Then, a tall, slouching man with an honest-to-god pompadour starts to sing.

“Asahi-san!”

Asahi jumps again. He places the sound—burning through the rest—as Noya’s voice quickly enough. He looks around himself, sees that he and Noya are the only two of the group left standing in the threshold.

More keyed in to the honorific than to the tone of impatience suggesting that it’s not the first time Noya has called out to him, he realizes he forgets sometimes, that Noya tends to place a little distance between them when they’re out in company.

But he’s grateful when Noya gestures, a flicker of pale fingers in the dark of the bar around them, and says, “Come down here a second.”

He obeys, almost on the verge of a laugh, when Noya reaches out and presses his thumb upward between Asahi’s eyebrows.

His mouth dropping a little, he asks, “Dirt…?”

“No. Just, if you don’t stop frowning like that you’re gonna start looking older than that guy up there.”

The colored lights flare across Noya’s skin as he move his hand away, pale blues and greens highlighting where his temples are pricked with sweat. Noya notices him staring and sticks his tongue past his teeth—just barely. Asahi narrows his eyes at him, and wonders if everything this kid does designed for maximum impact.

“C’mon! Ryuu is here already and he said Nee-san would get us something to drink!”

Asahi straightens up and looks into the bar again. Noya is tugging his shirt in the direction he wants to go, so Asahi drifts back to observation. It’s an older place—not something you’d find in too often in Tokyo, or even Sendai. Not a place with private rooms of the type the modern crowd prefers, respectably ashamed of their voices as most people ought to be. But the kind with one large, communal area, a stage in the middle, and fifty pairs of strangers’ eyes.  

Saeko is loudly talking to a group of young people, Tanaka and Asahi’s cousins among them.

“Didn’t you guys bring _any_ women?? Ugh, Maki-chan was supposed to be here, dammit.” She pounds the table with her fist. “I’ll forgive her, but only if she bailed because she’s gettin’ laid—oh crap.”

Her eyes alight on Noya and Asahi.

Looking scandalized at herself, she opens her mouth, and closes it over what sounds like

“Uhmmsssoooo…”

Tanaka laughs as he reaches for the pitcher of beer in the middle of the table. Saeko halfheartedly slaps his arm has he does so. “Nee-san, you can’t shock them! Noya-san might look kinda delicate but he’s-”

“I look _what_ now!?”

Noya shouts his outrage, sitting down and pulling Asahi along as Saeko tackles her little brother and digs her knuckles into the top of his shaved head.

“Well even so, I should at least try to be a better example for _you_ , ya little perv-”

Tanaka flails. “If this is your failing then why am I the one gettin’ punished for it!?”

Saeko relents. She pulls away from her brother, and slaps her hands on the table with a loud—if slightly wet—thwack. The half-empty glasses and bottles rattle. “Well, you still didn’t bring me any girls to talk so, so, I’m gonna sing!” she says.

Tanaka and Noya tilt their heads to near-identical angles. Like she’s suggested something far more perplexing than the next song at a karaoke bar.

She pushes her way back from the table, snorting as she stands up. The agonizing scrape of her chair is barely audible over the predictable chords blaring from the speakers.

“What?” she asks, her hands still balanced before her.

Tanaka says, “Just. If Ayumi Yamasaki ever heard what you do to her music in the shower, she might not release another album. Ever.”

Saeko’s eyes go very wide. She pulls a nasty expression—remarkably similar to one her brother might. “I am singing Yui, and I am gonna kill it.” She shifts her grip, digging her chipped nails into the back of the chair and leans over it. Her torso ends up almost parallel to the table. “Listen to the reaction I get from the audience and tell me you could beat it, punkass brat.”

She shoves herself back upright. She turns around—Asahi is definitely not the only one to notice that she overdoes it, overbalancing and stumbling a little. Then she marches toward the stage. The ten or so centimeters of metal and leather bracelets along her swinging arms would be jangling harshly if any of them could hear over the noise of the bar.

“Hn,” Tanaka mutters, once she’s out of hearing. Which in this atmosphere, is about four feet from the table.  “That’s not a fair contest. All she’ll have to do to get a reaction is stand on the stage. Can you believe the shirt she’s wearing??”

Noya grins teasingly at him. “Fashion judgment, or over-protective younger brother judgment?”

Tanaka gives a grumpy shrug and sets his chin on folded arms. “Wouldya want _your_ sister wearin’ something like that in public?”

“Good thing I’ve only got brothers.”

Tanaka broods for about two more seconds. Then he barks a laugh and sits back up. “Yeah, I guess I can’t imagine Hiro or Ran in that kind of get-up.”

Noya shudders a little. Then he reaches for the pitcher just beyond Tanaka—and a pair of glasses. Asahi raises one hand, apologetic.

“Sorry, I know you said Saeko-san would pay, but I don’t really want to drink tonight.”

“Oh!” Noya takes the other glass back. Then he snaps his head to Asahi again. “D’you care if I do…?”

“Not at all,” Asahi says, shaking his head. He wants to add, ‘ _I love you for asking, though_.’

Their conversation yields to the immediacy of Saeko’s excited treble over the microphone, promising a show to the audience that’s perked up at her ascent to the stage. Some strangers around the bar holler; Saeko winks, and Tanaka buries his face against his arms again.

They watch her perform, though. (Tanaka, too, peeking with one eye, warily.) She’s actually not bad, especially down in the alto register; Asahi suspects that Tanaka was just giving her a hard time, more worried about her virtue than about her voice.

Somewhere in the middle of her performance, three men stumble by their table. One of them, the closest one, has his arm around a companion’s shoulders and scans their scattered glasses until he reaches the empty space in front of Asahi. Then he stops dead.

He jerks his companion around to face the Azumane group. When he swings said companion in to view, Asahi finds himself looking at another bearded youth with long, brown hair.

“Hey Jesus!” the first man says. “Your brother is here!”

Asahi and “Jesus” look at each other with what he is sure must be identical horrified expressions. Tearing his eyes away first, Asahi looks down at the grainy pattern of the wood of the table—so that he only hears the loud stranger’s friends groan at him, only hears the men at his own table laugh. Not seeing anything else but the condensation on the waxy surface of the table. He feels Noya run a hand up and down his clothed arm in a quick, reassuring pattern, and the heat it generates grounds him a little. Everywhere else, though, the buzz of unwanted attention from so many unknown eyes prickles cold.

“Asahi, how can you put up with shit like that?” Asahi looks up at Makoto, who is scrubbing his hands over his head in sympathy.

“I don’t know that I’m exactly putting up with it-”

Makoto continues, his hands scrubbing faster. “This is exactly why I don’t have long hair! Even though Suzume keeps bugging me to grow it out…”

Takuya nods from across the table. “As as your loyal cousin, if you ever grew a rattail or some shit, I would do you the favor of cutting it off myself.”

“Dude, no.” Noya interjects. He raises his hands in Makoto’s direction as if he’s about to say something very important. “First off, always do what the girlfriend asks. That’s just good science.”

Makoto blinks at him. “Science?”

“Relationship science. It’s legit, look it up. Second,” Noya swivels from Makoto to Takuya. “Are you kidding about the rattail thing? He would look awesome!”

Looking like he wants to rebut the point, Takuya opens his mouth. It’s not until he does, and Asahi can see the green and blue of the bar’s flickering lights shine over his cousin’s back teeth, that he pieces a few things together.

But before he can finish the thought, Takashi jumps in.

“Makoto.” Takashi reaches out across the table to where Makoto is sitting, directly across from him. It might be a legitimate miracle that the drop of his arm doesn’t break any of the—many—glasses. “If you ever grew a rattail—I would, like, braid if for you.”

Makoto looks truly touched. “Nii-san…”

The family rowdiness lulls a little, after that, and they congratulate Saeko when she sits down. But Asahi is still thinking. Piecing together the last few days. Realizing that Takuya is the cousin with the biggest mouth—and the one most likely to give Noya a hard time. (And vice versa, but he feels like that’s neither here nor there.) It might be their similarity in age—or the fact that both have a personality that negates staying silent. Whatever it is, it starts to raise Asahi’s hackles.

Several songs after Saeko’s number, Kenta is by far the most sober of the cousins, despite being the only legal one among them. And when he stands up to take his turn, he chooses a song that apparently the entire family knows. That Saeko, Tanaka, and Noya also know. There’s nodding, flashing of eyes, agreement all around the table. Asahi thinks he vaguely recognizes the tune—but not vividly enough to sing along to it, the way everyone else at the table is abruptly doing. Tanaka’s voice, in particular, punctures the air, crowing the melody more than singing it. (Saeko turns out to be the better singer, after all.)

And though he pleads with it not to, Asahi’s brain starts construing the noise as an assault.

The next repetition of the chorus is so loud it makes the rest of the world seem like static. Everyone at the table has joined in on the song Kenta has chosen. Kenta—the oldest, the leader—had probably chosen it for that very reason, so that everyone could join in. That thought is relentless, as is the following one: that Asahi can’t, doesn’t want to join in.

He doesn’t want to be stuck in that negativity of mind. So he tries for physical ground. But the boundaries at the edges of the bar’s little world are becoming less distinct, more immediate. Even the world outside feels like it’s crashing into the wooden walls. And there are so many heartbeats in the room. Every word he can parse from every conversation within a ten foot radius becomes something of supreme importance, yet he is overwhelmed by his powerlessness to do anything about any of it—not Saeko remarking that Maki-chan never did show up, not the futile sadness of the L’Arc~en~Ciel lyrics pouring through the speakers dotting the blue-and-green light, the underwater speaker static.

And when did the songs change again? He isn’t sure.

Maybe he could calm himself down if he could bring himself to ask for Noya’s help. Wrap himself around the younger of them—certainly the stronger of them. Use the bodily contact to remind himself that he’s not alone in the rising noise. That he’s not just a set of senses being bombarded with flashing excess totally out of his control. But he can’t. Not here; not the way he wants to.

And then he starts wondering—maybe the thought is too much. Maybe it shows on his face. Maybe even the slight affection they’ve experimented with in front of his family has been too much. Maybe Noya was onto more he let on, earlier, when he said that people wouldn’t approve.

He knows he’s got both arms crossed over his stomach—knows himself to be drawing inward, smaller and smaller. But he doesn’t know until the flip switches that he won’t be able to handle any more. It’s not even a matter of not wanting to embarrass himself with the display, or not wanting to subject his eardrums to any higher decibel. It’s a click, an electric jolt, that has him turning to Noya and quite without his permission or his intention, saying, “I need to go.”

The group is so loud that Noya probably only notices he’s being spoken to because of the shift under his foot, which he has subtly placed over Asahi’s under the table. Bewildered for a moment, he blinks into Asahi’s face, and nods. He doesn’t even need to ask Asahi to repeat himself.

Grateful that Noya leans over the table to start making their excuses, Asahi rises fluidly to walk in the direction of the restrooms. He doesn’t remember any of the space between the table and the sink—only that within moments, he is splashing water over his face to give the impression that he’s done something worth getting up from the table for. He makes his way outside seconds later, feels like he slinks in the direction of the door. He hugs the side of the building until it curves out of view. Once there are no more eyes to worry about, he stands with his index finger and thumb held firmly at his ear and the underside of his jaw, just to get the pulsing to stop. Focuses on the pinch, the pressure. Nothing more. To focus even on the gravel under his feet, or the seaside coolness of the air, would be too much.

He lacks the wherewithal to realize his eyes are clouded and probably about to spill over, before his whirlwind of a boyfriend joins him.

“Asahi! There you are, geeze.”

He’s glad it’s just “Asahi” again, out here in the relative quiet.

“Sorry,” he says, immediately, pushing away from the wall and forcing the comforting vice of his hand away. “I’m…”

He doesn’t even know what he wants to say. And isn’t exactly sure what he’s sorry for, even as Noya enters his personal space and the clouding of his eyes grows worse.

Through with the days of reassuring him from a distance, though, Noya simply grabs the hand Asahi has dropped.

Noya asks, “Headache? We were bein’ kinda loud…”

Asahi shakes his head and uses the remainder of his willpower to look down into Noya’s eyes. He doesn’t allow tears to escape—and for that, he is proud. As he blinks them back to film, he notices that Noya’s eyes are ever so slightly unfocused. For some unknowable reason, this makes Asahi feel better. He zeros in on that instead of on the stubborn tightness at his throat. Maybe, he thinks, his relief comes from the idea, the hope, that he hasn’t spoiled everyone’s fun entirely.

“I’m sorry,” Asahi repeats, forcing stability into his own voice as he visualizes the lump in his throat going down. “I’m easily startled, I guess.”

Noya snorts a laugh, but his smile is not unkind. “ _You_ guess, the rest of us know. ’S not a surprise.”

Asahi doesn’t have to try to smile at this—it comes unbidden—but what his face comes up with without his volition must not be very convincing. Squeezing Asahi’s fingers, Noya turns and leads him onto the sidewalk. Then he lets go of Asahi’s hand. Walks backward for a few steps.

“I don’t really get it, but moving always makes _me_ feel better. So. Walk with me.”

Asahi’s breath of a laugh, like his smile, is unbidden. “We already are walking, but I suppose I can go a little further…”

Noya turns around to look where he’s going, his shoulders raise a little. “Don’t make fun of me when I’m tipsy and tryin’ to do that comforting thing, it’s not easy.”

“I know it’s not.”

Noya _is_ trying to comfort him, as well as he knows how. He walks, hands in his pockets against the chill damp of the night air, a few paces ahead. So Asahi can decide whether he wants the space.  

“I’m sorry,” Asahi says again. But he’s still smiling. So, he thinks, is Noya, though Asahi can’t see his face.

“I’ve told you about five hundred thousand times that you apologize more than you need to.”

“Five hundred- That might be a slight hyperbole.”

“Might be.”

It feels good, at any rate, to fall back on these phrases. Easy. Asahi could use some easy, right now.

It’s not a bright night out, but the large leaves of the trees overhead dapple starlight and streetlight both—just enough to define and saturate the outlines of parked cars and rickety old fences. Asahi doesn’t think they’re headed in the direction of the beach, or their temporary home—too far to walk, anyway, they’ll probably have to call a cab company later. At any rate, it would be hard to get lost in a town like this. So he doesn’t worry. He lets himself be lead; and after a few minutes, he joins Noya and relinks their hands so they can walk side by side.

For a long moments, there’s just the clopping of his shoes, the scuffing of Noya’s sneakers.

Noya’s grip tightens when he asks, “You okay?”

“…Yeah,” Asahi answers, his nod more emphatic than the word. “I couldn’t really explain it to you unless you were inside my head watching it happen; places just get overwhelming sometimes.”

“You don’t have to. Explain, I mean, it’s fine.” Noya knocks into him a little, his hand too busy holding Asahi’s to pat him on the back. “No one’s upset.”

The last phrase is almost casual in its delivery. Asahi loves Noya all the more for it.

“So actually,” Noya continues, then looks away and clears his throat a little.

Asahi raises an eyebrow, feeling the panic again. It’s a low thrum, through, and he tightens his grip on Noya’s hand. Settles into his presence. “Actually…?”

Noya looks up at him, and awkwardly tries to wave both hands. “No, no, everything’s fine! I wanted to say. That actually it’s a good thing you wanted to leave?”

Asahi’s eyebrow does not come down, but the panic recedes—slowly. “It is?”

“Yeah,” Noya says, looking pleased with himself as he swings their linked hands. “I looked online before we left home and I was surprised that there was no summer festival or anything in this town your grandpa picked. Then when I met him I figured it made sense—he seems kinda like an old curmudgeon who hates parties.”

Asahi is not sure whether he should laugh. “Okay…?”

“But!” A streetlight they pass flickers, and the momentary darkness makes Noya’s smile look brighter as it’s turned up at him, all white flashing teeth. “There’s some festival going on a couple towns over.”

“…Did you really want to walk that far?”

“Of course not,” Noya deadpans, reaching over to pinch his wrist lightly with his other hand. “Didn’t you notice all the hills around here?”

Asahi gazes ahead of them and notices that yes, they are walking uphill, and have been for some time.

“Oh.”

“So,” Noya continues, his impatience at Asahi not putting together what is clearly very simple evident in the edges of smile—which is still more good natured than anyone’s has a right to be. “I looked up what time they were doin’ their fireworks. I had an alarm set on vibrate—but you beat me to it!”

Mouth dropping, Asahi lets go of his boyfriend’s hand.

Noya doesn’t seem to notice as he reaches into his pocket and peers at his phone, squinting little at the harsh blue-white light. Asahi notices that his lock screen is a photo of last year’s Karasuno VC club. He doesn’t have to watch Noya fumble with his passcode to know that the home screen is a shot of them on Asahi’s graduation day. (Just before it was taken, Noya had subtly reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind Asahi’s ear; and then Suga, who took the picture, had noticed the brand-new piercing there. Actually, it was lucky the picture existed at all; Suga had dropped the phone in shock as soon as he’d noticed the metal.)

“‘Bout four minutes until the alarm’s supposed to go off, actually. So we’ll have to wait a little while, hope that’s okay.”

Asahi still says nothing—can’t, in fact. He shakes his head a little.

Noya looks back at him, half a step ahead. “What?”

“You did this for me?”

A little incredulous, Noya answers, “Did what? I just Googled it, that’s easy. But yeah, uh…”

Asahi listens to him trail off, mutter something at the bottom of his vocal register. He forgets how low Noya can pitch his voice, bright as it usually is. When the sound stops and he turns his head, Noya has both his hands clasped to the back of his neck and he is resolutely staring at the horizon. So Asahi knows whatever he missed, it was good.

He’s already half a smile in when he asks, “What was that?”

Noya drops his hands and stops walking. He turns just far enough to look Asahi in the face, seeming reluctant but determined. “I didn’t forget about the date. The a-anniversary thing. But you brought it up earlier and now this seems like way less of a surprise than it was supposed to so-” With obvious self-consciousness, he steps toward Asahi and shoves at the small of his back to get them both walking again. “Anyway you love fireworks, right? Waste if you don’t get to see any over the summer break!”

His skin feels warm where Noya’s touching him, even through the sweater and the button-down he’s wearing underneath it. Hypersensitive from the evening already, Asahi’s heartbeat speeds up. It’s probably only thanks to the fact that he’s generally not a happy crier that he doesn’t embarrass himself any further.  
Once they get to the crest of the hill, they have to wait for a few minutes, standing side by side in the dewy grass. In the interim, another couple joins them on the ridge—polite enough to given them several meters’ space. The air is heavy, quiet and damp. And it’s not until the very first firework goes off—red and quiet with the distance—that either of them says anything else.

“I should say ‘m sorry, too.”

It sounds like it’s spoken on pure impulse. But what surprises Asahi—who is not unused to Noya’s impulsive nature—is that the boy gives a long, baited inhale before he adds, “You were givin’ off signs all day that something like this was gonna happen. I shoulda noticed.”

Asahi manages to stave off his shock until the next burst of color fades—all orange and shimmering as it descends. He looks down at the libero.

“I was?”

Noya nods into the light of the next firework—blue and flickering—and his face shifts, looking now like a physician about to deliver a very serious diagnoses. It’s all puffery, all drama; but maybe that’s because the message beneath is something so serious it should only be said lightly. “Not like it’s happened a lot, but you get extra jumpy and agitated when you’re… don’t take this the wrong way. When you’re gonna have, like an episode kinda thing.”

“I don’t,” Asahi says, unable stop himself tugging at the short sleeve of Noya’s t-shirt, “take it the wrong way at all.”

Noya does turn to look at Asahi, then.

Meeting his eyes, Asahi says, “Actually, it makes me feel safer that you notice.”

Noya’s jaw drops, and even in the dark between the bursts of color Asahi sees his boyfriend’s whole face go red as he turns back to the horizon to watch the next firework. Noya crosses his arms, too—and mutters something Asahi can’t hear.

Asahi smiles, but bites his bottom lip to stop from laughing. “What?”

“Just watch the damn fireworks.”

Asahi does him the courtesy of looking away, but he doesn’t stop smiling.

Eventually, Noya’s arms uncross. He shoves his hands in his pockets—but several seconds later, his elbow is close enough to knock into Asahi’s arm where it hangs at his side.

Asahi is supremely aware of the company, the other couple on the hill those blessed meters away. But he can’t help it. He plays along with Noya’s subtle touch, like he knows Noya wants. Takes it slowly, like he knows Noya _doesn’t_ want, but will tolerate—the complicated maneuvers like those in a game of go, until their little fingers are liked together.

On the tail end of one bright green explosion, one that glitters away into traces of gold and takes a long time to fade, he threads his fingers through Noya’s without looking down. Then he lifts their linked hands and pressed his lips to the inside of Noya’s wrist.

Noya sucks in a very short, very quiet gasp. He takes a moment to meet Asahi’s eye, embarrassed but clearly happy even as he snatches his hand back.

“Don’t fall apart on me, now,” he says. “Before today you’d never kissed me in public and now you’ve done it twice.”

“Maybe that should change.”

It sounds braver than it feels—Noya’s brow is skeptical as he continues looking up at him—but Asahi thinks somewhere, deep down, he means it.  
  
***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me while I got my head together these last couple weeks. Grad school is no joke, kids. 
> 
> This is actually one of the first chapters I wrote for this fic, during the Big Bang over the summer. But it required a lot of reworking to fit it into the narrative that ended up coming out. 
> 
> Also. ARE YOU EXCITE FOR FRIDAY??????
> 
> Please visit me at [utlaginn](http://utlaginn.tumblr.com) on Tumblr and be excite with me.


	8. In Which Noya Tries Some Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, where I live it's still 10/10, so. Noya POV for Noya's birthday!

Another day on the beach. Again, full of swimming and sport—for those of them who weren’t hungover. And the group walks back to the Housen house, meandering like a herd of turtles. The sun has a couple hours to go before it’s ready to slink behind the hills to the west, it’s not that far of a walk.  
  
Well, except for Takuya and Makoto—who have to double back about halfway to the house, when they all remember that they’ve left the volleyball net behind. Takashi-san and Kaori-san start worrying that it’ll be forfeit to tourists if they leave it overnight. The two Azumane cousins get drafted to fetch it, as the youngest of the crowd.  
  
Yuu breathes a little easier when Takuya is gone. He’d gotten under his skin again, during the day’s series of supposedly friendly matches.  
  
They’re about a quarter mile away from the family home when Ryuu winces and mutters “Oh shit” under his breath.  
  
Yuu pulls up beside him. “What’s the matter?”  
  
“I didn’t bring my phone. Left it up at the house and Nee-san and Maki-san were supposed to meet us at the beach again.”  
  
“Oh shit,” Yuu echoes. “Yeah, you’re in for it.”  
  
He grins a little apologetically as Ryuu shuffles toward him with a nasty look on his face. But he doesn’t want Ryuu to suffer any longer than he has to. He uses the momentum of dodging out of Ryuu’s reach to step toward his boyfriend, who seems to be listening—albeit maybe with one ear—to Kaori-san and her friends.  
  
Yuu tugs on the sleeve of Asahi’s sweatshirt. “Asahi, can we…?”  
  
He trails off as Asahi digs into the canvas bag he’d brought—screen printed with some band Yuu has never heard of—and pulls out his phone. The tight-lipped smile on Asahi’s face is half laughter, half benevolence.  
  
“I wouldn’t want Saeko-san mad at me, either,” Asahi says, tilting the phone toward him.  
  
Yuu makes sure his answering smile is the brightest he can muster. And makes it a point to maximize the contact between his hand and Asahi’s as he pulls the phone from his grip.  
  
He turns and hands it to Ryuu, who holds up one hand in apology to Asahi. “I’ll make it fast.”  
  
“Take your time,” Asahi hums.  
  
As Ryuu reaches Nee-san, whose tinny voice can clearly be heard clearly even from this distance, Yuu takes a minute to look up at Asahi. He takes in the sweatshirt again, black and more than a little worn-looking. The ace’s big hands are tucked comfortably inside the pocket at the front. Squinting at the fact that Asahi had felt the need to put it on, Yuu is about to say that it’s overkill, that there’s just a little bit of wind. But still-damp hair curls a little bit where it catches at Asahis collar, drapes in brown and auburn waves into the hood. That distracts him.  
  
Deciding he doesn’t care whether the cousins see or not, he loops one arm through the crook of Asahi’s  
elbow and tucks himself close to his side.  
  
Asahi looks down—a little surprised, but not taken aback. “Are you cold, too?”  
  
“You know me, I’m never cold.”  
  
“You’re right, what was I thinking,” Asahi answers. He manages sarcasm, for all that his shyness renders him barely able to meet Yuu’s eyes.  
  
It’s a little awkward walking this way. Especially with a day’s worth of sand matted onto their feet. And a day’s worth of the wind’s salt and grit matted everywhere else, making their skin a little grimy. Or is it tacky? Either way, Yuu doesn’t mind—and he can’t imagine that Asahi does, given that he’s got that faraway, slightly lost look that lets Yuu know he’s done something right in the significant other department. Still, Asahi looks like he wants to fidget, and after a minute, he pulls his left hand from his pocket and uses it to tuck the hair behind both his ears.  
  
Then, before he returns the hand to his pocket, he reachers over and squeezes Yuu’s forearm. Lets his grip linger a little, brushing a thumb over his skin so that the hair there stands up.  
  
Yuu looks down. But he couldn’t have contained his grin if you paid him.  
  
A few steps later, Asahi asks, “Were you alright, earlier?”  
  
Yuu pauses, then smiles through his confusion. “What d’you mean? We’ve had a good day, yeah?”  
  
“Yeah…” Asahi agrees, nodding. The beach is getting narrow; and he has to let go of Yuu’s arm to heave himself over a cluster of knee-high rocks—knee high for him, anyway. Yuu wonders briefly if the girls will yell at them for not just picking their way around, the way they had. “But you seemed. I don’t know, upset isn’t the right word, but you seemed _off_ for a second. After that set where you and Tanaka were on opposite teams. Yesterday, I thought I must have been imagining it, but today, I thought for sure…”  
  
Yuu blinks, ending his staring contest with the pile of rocks. Shrugging, he says, “Nah, I wasn’t upset, it’s just your cousins aren’t used to the way me and Ryuu play, y’know? I guess… a couple of ‘em made some comments about how loud we were.”  
  
He gets a bit of a running start and scrambles over the rocks, himself.  
  
“Not in a mean way! I don’t think… Takuya, maybe, I dunno.”  
  
Asahi is probably too busy grabbing Yuu’s elbow to help steady him to hear the last bit.  
  
“Be careful…”  
  
Yuu doesn’t need the hand. Of course. But he does find that he likes that Asahi re-initiated contact. Those few moments without the now-tangible warmth of Asahi’s body this close had made him needy.  
  
Yuu extracts his elbow. Doesn’t really want to, but does it. “’S fine, I got it.”  
  
But he doesn’t say anything else. Doesn’t tell Asahi that he has a feeling that every off-key comment Asahi’s cousins make is going further than his ears. That they’re not really made for his benefit, but for someone else’s.  
  
And that feels little more like a lie than an omission. Which annoys him. There’s no untruth in it; he just doesn’t want to make Asahi angry when they’re supposed to be on vacation. Let alone angry with his own family.  
  
After a long silence, Asahi shakes his head as if coming to a decision. “Well if he… if anyone says anything else that bothers you, please tell me. Okay?”  
  
His smile is too soft, too generous for Yuu to answer with anything else than an open-mouthed nod.  
  
All too soon, Ryuu is marching toward them, sighing heavily. He conks the hand holding the cellphone heavily down on Yuu’s shoulder, coming to walk between them.  
  
“Well, she’s prepared to forgive me and meet us at the house, but she’s not prepared to share any of what she brought for today.” The look he sends up at Asahi is almost a glare—as if this is somehow his fault.  
  
“She’ll probably share with your cousins, though. Your _of age_ cousins, she said.”  
  
“Lame,” Yuu adds. But he’s a little too warm now to care for how the buzz of potential alcohol might add to it.  
  
***  
  
Ryuu’s prediction about Nee-san’s sharing is, unsurprisingly, spot on.  
  
They meet in the driveway, the clinking of a 24-pack of what is probably excellent beer ringing out. Definitely excellent, because Nee-san has excellent taste, especially for someone who’s great at finding the right thing on clearance. The glassy sounds bounce against the walls of the house as a few of the men rush to relieve her of her burden.  
  
She puts her hands on her lower back and stretches—before glaring mildly at her little brother. “I might’ve shared with _all_ of you if we were gonna be at the beach. But there’ll be adults here later, right?”  
  
“None that I can see right now, at least,” Ryuu mutters.  
  
She reaches out to grab the top of Ryuu’s head as Asahi says, “My uncles and the rest of them won’t be back until later this evening. I’m sure they won’t mind if you want to drink-”  
  
“Oh really?” Takashi asks. “You don’t think Ojii-san will mind?”  
  
Asahi backpedals less with his family than he does in other circumstances, Yuu has noticed, but he still hesitates. “W-well, not if they don’t get _drunk_.”  
  
“What is the point of drinking if you don’t want to get drunk?”

“Takashi, that is a terrible attitude…”

When they get inside and everyone starts shuffling around, Nee-san throws one arm around Yuu’s shoulders and the other around Ryuu’s. Even though she has to lean awkwardly upward to catch onto them both. She’s a little shorter than him—which always makes him feel about two meters tall, for all that she’s always seemed larger than life—and a lot shorter than her brother. The leather of her jacket squeaks as she pulls them both close to her, and she feels warm, the perfume she wears subtle but quirky. Flowers and something like dead leaves, he swears. She smells familiar, comforting.

“I’m actually excited to hang out with you nerds again,” she says, squeezing until both their faces are pressed to hers. Ryuu whines a little; Yuu doesn’t mind as much. But she lets them go swiftly. “God, everyone at Uni is so serious these days. What can we do in a super snazzy place like this that is the least serious thing possible?”

“Actually,” Kaori-san says, as she approaches their little group. The mild flush on her face—and the fact that she doesn’t have a toddler in tow this afternoon—makes her look younger than her twenty nine years.“We were thinking of ghost stories!”

This being the most popular idea, they all settle down into the largest living area they can find in the old house. There are more of them in this group than there have been all weekend—and it takes a little maneuvering, but they form a rough oval on the tatami mats in a room lit by ancient electric wiring and the remnants of the daylight outside.

Once they’re situated, Kenta—the oldest and de facto leader of the cousins—looks around the circle with a little tilted smile. Then it curls, almost condescending. To the group, he asks, “Any ground rules?”

“No angry kid ghosts,” Yuuka-chan says, her hands crossed like an X in front of her face. “I don’t need to have nightmares about Haruki-chan.”

Suzume—Makoto-san’s girlfriend—nods. “Especially since he keeps waking us up in the middle of the night. I’ll die of a heart-attack.”

“Sorry…” Kaori-san says.

Everyone rushes to assure her while Kenta nods and says, “Duly noted. Apart from kid ghosts and apart from how Makoto should maybe take his delicate girlfriend to a doctor to check out that heart condition-”

Makoto says, “Hey!” just about the same time as Kaori-san says, “I’d actually like to get a good sleep in, seeing as I’m kid-less for the night.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Kenta says, nodding at the beer Nee-san had offered her.

The condensation over it winks in the light as Kaori-san tips it forward. “Don’t judge me, I’m not nursing anymore.”

“Ew, Kaori-oba!”

“ _Anyway_ , I have a decent story I’d like to tell before I go to bed.”

“Fine, fine,” Kenta sighs. “Anyone have any other concerns?”

Ryuu is grinning in a way that no few of the others probably find scary. Yuu, however, is proud of the competitive streak he sees in his friend, rising easily from the ashes of the afternoon’s games. “How do we know who wins?”

Yuu is also proud to have such an insightful friend present, saying, “Good question, Ryuu!”

“Nothing about the beach,” Asahi adds, looking little pale. “O-or old houses.”

“Don’t be a coward, Asahi!” Takashi hollers from across the ring they’ve formed. The beer he’s holding is already half-drunk. He’s not the only one; along with Kaori-san, Nee-san and Maki-san are drinking too—having brought the beer—but Takashi is certainly the furthest along.

“Maybe old Western houses?” someone puts in. “Some of us would probably like to sleep at some point—and the nightmares, in _this_ setting? Would be horrific.”

Takashi isn’t persuaded. “What the fuck kind of ghost stories are we supposed to tell if we can’t talk about scary little kids or old creepy houses?”

“Language, Takkun!” Kenta laughs. “What kind of example are you setting for our little cousins…”

It isn’t a very organized contest, after all. And none of them are very original. But they begin with a lot of giggling, and lot of near-misses at absolute terror. As promised, just before she retires for the night, Kaori-san tells a terrifying anecdote about a haunted office building that has a few of them shuffling restlessly for the next several minutes.

But Yuu notices in that shuffling that Takuya’s eyes track him, as he scoots in his place between Asahi and Ryuu to sit closer to the former.

To keep himself from outright narrowing his eyes and sneering at one of Asahi’s relatives, he turns to Ryuu.

“Hey, remember that training camp last year when you got all scared ‘cause Shouyou thought he saw a ghost—but actually it was me??”

Ryuu rounds on him, his face slightly red. “Yeah, and I remember how two seconds later you were screamin' because you thought Asahi-san was a ghost!”

“Oh yeah…” Semi-seriously, he tilts his head up at his ace. “I’m sorry I thought you were a ghost, Asahi-san.”

It’s too easy to go back to “Asahi-san” inside, when Ryuu had just said it and when they’re in front of all these newly not-strangers. Within the beautiful paper walls that belong to Asahi’s inheritance, to Housen-sama. Even when it’s been “Asahi” for most of the day. The week.

He’s pulled out of that self-conscious thought when someone snorts from across the circle.

Someone. He knows who.

“I can see why they’d think Asahi was a ghost, with that hair, but did they think Nishinoya was one of Suzume-chan’s angry kid ghosts?”

Yuu looks away from Asahi in time to see that it’s Takuya who’s talking. He isn’t surprised. but he feels his nostrils flare all the same.

He doesn’t think he’s supposed to have heard it. It was quiet enough. But he’s used to picking out voices directed at him, or about him, in a crowd of voices on the echoing court. And he’s used to answering every single one of them. Whether they’re from his team or not. So—louder than Takuya had spoken—he answers.

“What’s your problem, huh?”

It jolts out of him. Takes a little too much air. The second it rings to silence, he wishes he could take it back. He could’ve— _should’ve_ —just brushed it off, like every other random remark he’s heard since he got here. Asahi’s cousins don’t know him, and he doesn’t know them, and it’s always hard to feel out someone’s sense of humor when the interaction is new.

But now he’s called Takuya out. And both their eyes go wide.

Takuya still look like he wants to laugh if off. “Sorry, what?”

The adrenaline is pounding unkindly through Yuu’s veins even as Asahi reaches between them and grips his foot in warning.

He puts his hand over Asahi’s in turn as he shuffles upward a little. “Sorry, nothin’. I heard what you said and you know it.”

Takuya opens his mouth, falters, and then looks petulant. “So?”

“So?” Yuu gets one foot under himself, ready to stand up if anyone else does. “You’ve been going after me all day—all week, and I want to know what gives.”

Takuya does sit a little taller, at that. So does Nee-san, from her place sitting across the circle. And Ryuu, from his place next to Yuu. Her expression is more perplexed than her brother’s, but about one thousand times more terrifying.

“Hey, I haven’t said anything that isn’t true,” Takuya says.

Next to him, Asahi shuffles up like he’s about to get to his knees. Yuu’s stomach drops out; but a flame burns there, too. He doesn’t want to fight with anyone here, but having Asahi ready to fight for him feels… Feels good. Feels like last year, when Asahi had (more bravely than he probably felt) put an arm between Yuu and the punks that badmouthed Karasuno right to their faces at qualifiers.

Then Yuuka stands up, shooting head and shoulders above the rest of them so quickly that all three young men settle back to the floor.

“Takuya-kun, your car is here, right?” she asks, her smile so fake it looks plastic.

Takuya stares up at Yuuka. “Y-yeah, my car’s here. Why?”

“I just remembered, there’s a sale at one of the shops in town that ends today. And they close soon—it’s almost dark! And you haven’t drunk anything. You should take me, before they’re closed.”

Looking thrown, Takuya stands up to her level. “And you need to go right now…?”

“Yes, I said the sale ends today, didn’t I?” she says, with a laugh that is only a little manic. “Come on, let’s go!”

It takes Yuu a minute to understand what she’s done, to get past the erratic giggle and the plastic smile. Despite its terrifying stiffness—and despite the fact that she is literally related to Asahi—Yuu thinks in that moment that he could kiss her out of sheer gratitude.

The Azumanes might not be the best communicators, but they are apparently great protectors.

Yuuka-chan whirls around, the skirt of her bathing suit cover-up flitting out like wings on either side of her. As she takes her—much slower—cousins’s arm, she shoots a glance over her shoulder at the oblong circle of youths. She offers Yuu a brief but intense moment of eye-contact—and then a smug little smile that she takes with her as she leads Takuya down the hall.

Yep, Yuu is definitely doing something for her in return before he and Asahi leave. Maybe he’ll buy her a cake. Or a fluffy animal. Something girls like, anyway.  

In the stillness that follows, Yuu sees Asahi reach into the big pocket of his sweatshirt. He pulls his phone out—subtly, setting it between himself and Yuu at such an angle that it’s unlikely anyone else will even notice the sudden digital glare—and taps for a few moments. It’s enough for Yuu to see what he’s typing:  
  
**To: Yuuka-chan, at 7:36pm**  
Thank you.  
  
Yuu tugs Asahi’s sleeve. “Tell her as soon as my pride recovers from being saved by a girl, I am buying her a puppy.”

Asahi snaps the phone shut. “You cannot buy my cousin a puppy.”

“Where’s that written??”  
  
***  
  
The rest of them aren’t quite in the spirit of ghost stories anymore, but to save face they talk in general for a while. About ghosts and legends, but also about things that frighten them. They stop just before the last ray of red light fades from the window, the sun making its final descent behind the mountains. The Azumane family are all kind of suspicious, as it turns out.

Nee-san, Maki-san, and some of the older cousins stay in a tighter circle on the tatami. Makoto and Suzume slink off, to take advantage of the fact that the “adults” still not home yet. Asahi, Ryuu, and Yuu get up as a unit. They look at one another, in the shelter of the doorway. Yuu is too thrown by embarrassment to pre-gauge whose eyes he’ll be able to stand meeting for long—Asahi’s or Ryuu’s. His gaze flits between their faces. Ryuu just looks confused. Yuu doesn’t like that even if he can’t blame him. But Asahi is staring into the mid-distance and has serious guilt written over every feature. Yuu likes that even less.

In the end, fingers itching at his sides for something active to do, he is the one that breaks the silence by suggesting, “Swimming?”

Asahi’s frown deepens. But at least Yuu’s suggestion seems to jolt him out of whatever else it was he’d been thinking about. “You don’t think it’s too late?”

Ryuu follows Yuu’s gaze outside. “Sun just set, it’ll probably be light for a little while still.”

“Aw, I wanna go!”

Asahi turns to Takashi, who has followed them. But he puts his foot down, crossing his arms at the doorway. “Not if you’ve been drinking. There’s no lifeguard. And I’m not gonna go after you if you drown.”

Yuu looks up at him, internal Asahi-bonfire levels at an all-time high. Ready to defend his boyfriend’s honor and then ready to put drunk idiots in their place. He was quite the catch.

So they head down to the beach again—to the shore right below the house, not all the way back to where the good sand is. They round the cliff, making their way to the narrow beach. Tanaka scrambles down one section of the rock-face. Asahi grabs the back of Yuu’s t-shirt before he can do likewise. Yuu raises an eyebrow, but Asahi tilts his head toward a more level surface. Yuu follows.

But he can’t stand the quiet that follows. Without the need to scrabble over rocks, there’s just. Silence.

He fills it.

“I’m _not_ sorry I said somethin’ to Takuya. But I probably shoulda said it more. Um. Quietly. And not in front of everyone. So.”

He’s annoyed at how defensive it comes out—but he doesn’t particularly want to take it back.

“It’s fine, I thought he deserved it, too,” Asahi says. But he adds, “You told me earlier you thought he was the one making the most comments. What made this the last straw?”

“Just.” Yuu tilts his head, thinking. He’s not exactly sure why this one had been the last ever-so-slightly snide remark he could stomach. “Maybe because all the other times it’s been loud? Like when we were playin’ on the beach and I could kinda ignore him.”

“But not this time?”

Yuu shakes his head.

Asahi’s gaze lightens. The wrinkle in his forehead doesn’t vanish completely, but it’s a start. “I was a little curious, when you’re not really one to keep quiet about what you think.”

“Well neither is Takuya apparently! The way he’s been talking about me—about us. Like he’s noticin' everything we’re doing. On purpose, I mean. Tryin’ to remember the details, so he can pass it all on.”

Yuu can hear the frown in Asahi’s voice as he asks, “Pass it on? To who?”

Sighing, Yuu answers, “I mean don’t quote me but I’ve had this feelin’ since we got here that everything that goes on gets back to the adults, somehow. Takuya might be the somehow.”

“…But why?”

“You don’t see it?” Instead of answering the “why” of it all—which he doesn’t have an answer for, dammit, Asahi was the one who said his mother wasn’t to be trusted, that his grandfather always had ulterior motives, that he thought _that_ was the reason Yuu was here at all—Yuu continues, “I thought that might’ve been what last night was about. At karaoke.”

When Asahi opens his mouth on what looks like the beginnings of a sigh, Yuu waves his hands between them.

“I know you get overwhelmed and all that but I thought maybe I was… making it worse? Overdoing it. I mean I was a little all over you, even at the bar. Maybe you didn’t want that getting around. To the grown-ups.”  

The furrow between Asahi’s eyebrows vanishes completely, and he shakes his head. “You weren’t overdoing it.”

Relief is bright in his chest—brighter than the dying sunset light. But it fades a little when Asahi doesn’t elaborate.

There’s something else there, something Asahi isn’t saying. And Yuu has known him long enough to know that whatever it is? It isn’t forthcoming. Not right now, at least.

So all Yuu says is, “Oh. That’s good, then.”

Once they reach the shoreline and get in the water, all of them are still a little hopped up from the sets this afternoon, and from the ghost stories—not to mention the near-fight. They swim far enough into the surf that they can test who can keep their hair dry the longest, through whatever means. Asahi is the stronger swimmer, and even Ryuu has a height advantage—but Yuu has been expressing his excitement via jumping since he was a kid and that personality quirk does not let him down, now.

It had been a particularly hot day. Hotter than yesterday. Several in their group had ended up with sunburns. (Yuu’s shoulders were pink but the tips of his ears got scorched because he’d forgotten sunscreen there; Asahi, the lucky bastard, was too dark at this point to burn.) So as soothing as the cold of the deeper surf was, the heat had also warmed the top several inches of the water, making it inviting. Even when they swim out to where they can no longer touch the sandy bottom, body-surfing the barely-cresting waves, there’s something gentle about the sea, the cotton-candy pink on the horizon, like a last-minute apology for the sun’s earlier ferocity.

The atmosphere gives Yuu an idea.

Moreover it’s an idea that works perfectly as a distraction.

The need to have Asahi closer to him—the need to have that strength between him and whatever his thoughts are trying to become—gives him the motivation.

“Ryuu, look away for a minute.”

His friend immediately turns, and because he has to use both hands to tread water and can’t cover it, Yuu can see that the back of his neck goes red. “Aw man, you guys are gonna get all mushy now?”

“No!” he yells back, defensive. After a moment of completely unconvincing hesitation, he flounders for a distraction. “Uh, Asahi is losin’ his swim trunks!”

“ _That’s not better_!”

Asahi huffs a breath through his nose and gives his trademark Very Suspicious look, lips pressed flat and eyes dark. But he swims close and doesn’t look at all like he wants to put up a fight against anything Yuu has planned. “What is it?”

“I want to try somethin’,” Yuu says, in what he hopes is an undertone.

“…I’m listening,” Asahi answers, with equal quiet. 

Something about the fact that the water is an equalizer, such that he can look directly into Asahi’s eyes without their 25cm height difference in the way. About way they’re facing one another, neither one able to touch the ground. About this day, about how it could end. All of it makes Yuu’s pulse speed up. 

To cover it, he meets Asahi’s eyes and gives a crooked grin. “Every tried makin’ out under water?”

Asahi had been blushing already, and Yuu watches as his complexion struggles to match the red in the sky above them. “Uh, no. Have you?”

“…Maybe.”

(His boyfriend definitely does not need to know about a certain ill-advised middle school house party hosted by the only guy in at school whose parents owned a Jacuzzi, attended by a girl in his year he had liked and who was too young to care that he was never going to get any taller. Nor does Asahi need to know about the disastrous attempt at recreating a kiss she had seen in some American movie.)

His brief spacing out does not seem to deter Asahi, who pulls Noya closer. The grip on the small of his back is predictably slippery, ocean and all, but no less there. “So you’ll have to show me how, then.”

Yuu’s stomach gives a swoop at the boldness of Asahi’s tone. The day’s competitiveness has his adrenaline up, though, so he wants to give as good as he gets. “Got it.”

He has to remind them both not to drown, to leave some limbs free for treading water. Asahi seems to get the concept, though, and once their mouths are pressed tight together, they help guide each other down under the space between two waves.

The contrast between the shock of cold under the surface, and the wet heat they manage to keep between them, is a sensation that might have felled a lesser man. Especially with how damn creative Asahi can be with his tongue. It’s hard not to want to move, but that would definitely break the seal. Somehow, the danger of that makes it all the more exciting. They’re both trembling a little when they resurface. Asahi separates them, looking like he can’t help the hand he presses over the lower half of his face.

“You’re uh. Really good at that.”

The words come out clear despite the hand smooshed against Asahi’s mouth. And all the blood that doesn’t rush to Yuu’s face at the unexpected compliment rushes directly to his groin.

Somehow, he manages to sound jaunty and not like he has to wheeze the words out—which he does—when he says, “I thought I’d pay you back for yesterday. And for today, for trying to be my knight in shining, even though I didn’t need you to.”

This makes Asahi go even redder than he already had.

And Yuu is glad it takes them a while to decide to swim back to shore, after that experiment.

“By the way, you lose,” Ryuu says, kicking sand as they pick their way back across the beach to the cliff that will lead them to the road by the house.

“Lose what?”

“Your hair and Asahi’s hair got wet.” He knocks his elbow into Yuu’s side. “So actually, you both lose. Losers.”

Yuu pushes him—not afraid of how hard, since any fall would be cushioned by the sand. “Oh shut up. Like we would even know if yours was!”

Ryuu turns to him with an evil smile. “You questioning my honor?”

“Your honor over what??”

“I have more respect for the game than that!”

“What game, the game of jackasses screwing around?”

They do end up shoving each other into the sand, and Asahi frets over them despite the obvious good nature of the ensuing scuffle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said there’d be family drama. This isn’t the worst of it so be forewarned.


	9. In Which Everyone Is Bad at Communicating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter could be tough for those with family triggers. Proceed with caution.

Asahi is extra fidgety when they finally head to bed.  
  
Yuu’s not really one to talk—he’s had a general hate on for staying still since he was small. (Smaller, say the combined voices of every bully he’s ever encountered. He gives that voice the finger.) But Asahi’s restlessness is more subtle. He’s always doing something with his hands. Tapping, kneading, drawing little patterns over his palm. Or over Yuu’s skin, if it’s safe to be affectionate. Twisting his hands together. His anxieties manifesting, Asahi told Yuu once.  
  
So when Yuu thinks “extra,” he means it.  
  
Asahi is thrashing around so much trying to get comfortable that Yuu is surprised he doesn’t wake Makoto up. (Not Takashi, though—three of Nee-san’s beers and he’s out like a plastered light.) The ace throws folded arms over his head. Then he drops them back down and rolls to his side. And once he’s there, he kicks against the sheet covering him so that his leg can poke out. He sighs, and shifts the other leg outward, too.

Just as he’s making as if to turn to his other side, Yuu reaches over and sets a hand on him.  
  
“What’s up, big guy?”  
  
Through the dark, whisper-light, Asahi’s surprise is more exhalation than laughter. “Big guy?”  
  
“Felt like this moment needed a pet name.”  
  
Asahi laughs again, all breath and no substance. “Okay. But nothing’s up.”  
  
“…Asahi.”  
  
“Really. It’s nothing, it’s just hot.”  
  
“I wouldn’t buy that from the discount bin,” Yuu says. “Tell me what’s wrong.”  
  
“I _am_ telling you, it’s nothing.”  
  
“The kind of _nothing_ I gotta wonder about until you’re ready to blindside me with it?”  
  
Yuu can’t see Asahi’s face in the dark—the moon hasn’t risen yet to poke its light between the slats of the sudare. But he imagines the face that accompanies the soft, wet sound of Asahi’s lips parting on shock. Immediately, Yuu presses his hand more firmly where it lays over Asahi’s side.  
  
“Whoa, that- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”  
  
Asahi is already facing him, but after a second—a very long second in which Yuu runs through every defensive excuse he can think of—he scoots closer so that they’re sharing personal space. “Even if you did mean it, it’s alright.”  
  
“No it’s not, those were fightin' words and I swear I don’t want to fight with you. I don’t usually get that mean when I’m tired, I-.”  
  
“Noya, it’s fine. Calm down.”  
  
Yuu makes himself stop, screwing his face up a little. Chastened by the fact that it’s usually him that has to tell Asahi not to panic.  
  
“I think…” Asahi continues, before Yuu can think of anything else to say. “If it’s that you’re tired, I think it’s probably for the same reason I’m feeling wide awake.”  
  
“And what’s that?” Relieved, he knocks his forehead lightly against Asahi’s.  
  
Asahi curls one arm around Yuu’s shoulders and hugs him closer. “All this family stuff. What you said earlier about my grandpa is probably one hundred percent right. He’s already asked me this trip about Makoto and his girlfriend—I would be really surprised if he wasn’t asking my cousins about us.”  
  
Yuu lifts his chin so he can try to look into Asahi’s eyes. “So how come you were so confused when I brought it up?”  
  
Asahi shakes his head. The loose, baby-fine hairs around his face tickle against Yuu’s jaw, his temple. “I didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to put together the pieces I had, I guess.”  
  
Yuu presses their faces together, again. “That’s fair. I guess.”  
  
He mumbles a little, and Asahi must pick up on it. “Ready to sleep?”  
  
“Mm.” Yuu squeezes the hand still locked over Asahi’s ribs. “What about you?”  
  
“Probably soon.” The sentence ends on a weighty pause. Yuu waits. He waits until his mouth is opening on another attempt at comfort, at which point Asahi says, “Stay with me for a minute?”  
  
Yuu is more than happy to do just that. To let Asahi burrow under his chin, warm against his chest. To entwine their limbs so that they’re coiled together like so many snakes.  
  
It’s a good while before the make any move to separate. But they do. For their roommates’ sake, propriety and all. Just as they’re pulling apart, Asahi reaches beneath his pillow with his other arm—the movement of skin against fabric loud to Yuu’s half-conscious ears—and checks his phone. Probably for the time, Noya thinks, as he closes his eyes again.  
  
“Oh, that’s right, Yuuka-chan…” Asahi says under his breath.  
  
“Hm?” Despite his sleepiness, Yuu is already squirming around to investigate.  
  
“Don’t laugh,” Asahi says—preemptively, as Yuu twists in his grip and presses in against his shoulder, squinting into the sudden brightness of the screen.  
  
**From: Yuuka-chan, at 8:21pm**  
Takuya-kun said you guys are too sensitive. I told him he’s being a jerk and he needs to either go home or play nice. Especially if we’re all gonna hang out again tomorrow.  
  
**From: Yuuka-chan, at 8:23pm**  
And tell Nishinoya-san not to worry! We like him! Even Takuya-kun—he’s just a dumb boy and he’s bad at communication like most dumb boys are. Even you I’m sorry to say. (⌒▽⌒)  
  
Yuu does laugh. But quietly. And—he hopes—without sounding mean-spirited.  
Just in case, he kisses his way up Asahi’s neck and leaves one lingering on his cheek, to make up for it.  
  
***  
  
“Ah, grandson.”

Asahi startles as he passes the threshold into the large living area, not expecting anyone else to be awake.

He is a night owl with no compunctions—anymore—about it. After he and Noya had talked, he still couldn’t sleep. He tried meditative breathing for a while, and that eventually lulled Noya into true sleep. So he’d sat up and tried to read on his phone, a few pieces on his news feed he’d wanted to catch up with. But he quickly turned self-conscious about the light, despite the fact that the other occupants of the shared bedroom had assured him more than once that they didn’t mind. So he had left Noya, Takashi, and Makoto, all breathing heavy in sleep, slid the door closed silently behind him, in search of a midnight walk.

He’s wary about this interruption in that search.

“Share a drink with me,” his grandfather says, sitting with a bottle of sake and a stack of shallow cups, as if he’s expecting more company.  

“I’m… still a minor, ojii-san,” Asahi says, even as he covers the distance to the low table and sits at it, crossing his legs under him.

His grandfather scoffs. Ignoring Asahi’s protest, he pours out two glasses, shifting one halfway across the table. Asahi looks around when he reaches for it with a small apology, as if anyone else will be awake to catch him. He’s had sake before, but the abrupt heat of the drink is not something he’s ever gotten used to, nor particularly likes. He drinks it, anyway.

They sit in mostly unbroken silence for several long minutes. His grandfather asks him a few brief questions about the part-time work he’s doing, and his direction at the vocational school. He pours Asahi another glass when he finishes the first. Asahi picks it up but doesn’t intend to drink any more.

“Where’s the barnacle?”

Asahi frowns, confused at first by the lack of context—but then it registers. He knows the term had become a bit of a joke with Noya and Kenta and the rest, but wonders where his grandfather had heard it. Noya’s theory about the information leaks from the younger generation to the older seems more plausible by the hour.

More than that, it bothers him that this sea-creature comparison sounds so much less innocent than when his cousins’ use it.

He answers without pointing any of this out. “Asleep.”

His grandfather grunts. “I might’s guessed, given the silence. He’s very… loud, you know.”

Asahi nods, pausing on the downward tilt of his head. “And I’m not. It’s a balance.”

“There are many things you are not, Aashi.”

This, he doesn’t mind, so much. He’s heard it before. How he’s not really a college student but he’s not really employed, either, and how because of that he’s not starting off with the kind of direction he needs to be successful in life. Asahi isn’t sure of the particular implications he’s meant to draw from the statement, this time, but he’s past most of the sting of it. The sting of all the similar comments that have been hurled at him—intentional and less-than.

Due—in no small part—to a year of “very loud” affection.

But then his grandfather continues. “Though I wonder, how should a balance be struck between one who gets mistaken for an adult, and one who gets mistaken for a child?”

Asahi can’t even pretend to be gracious about this remark, and feels the passivity of his expression shift. He can be silent in the face of comments about himself. This is something entirely other. His brows draw tight over his eyes and he can feel his mouth hang open, feel his lips try to curl around a syllable or two before he gives up the fight for coherence. He breaths though his nose, hard, and sets the shallow cup down on the table in front of him. He—and probably the old man—has had quite enough.

“How can you say that,” he asks, very quietly.

Barley even able to modulate the words into a question.

Wonderful start, talking back.

His grandfather pounds his fist against his thigh. “How can you break your mother’s heart in so blatant a manner?”

Asahi shrinks in on himself; can’t help it. His mouth is open again, and his fingers dig harshly into his knees. But now, his making himself small is not about self-preservation. It’s about trying, with every cell in his body, not to lash out in some irreparable way against the only male relative he has left on the maternal side of his family.

“None of this has anything to do with her, ojii-san.”

“That’s a convenient excuse.”

“So you blame her for how I turned out?”

His grandfather sighs.

“That isn’t the point.” Asahi watches as his grandfather irritably picks at pieces of lint on the yukata covering his knees. In the tense silence, Asahi wants to point out that the man hadn’t denied that he blames his daughter for how Asahi is—but he bites his tongue, literally, on the observation. “The point is,” the old man continues, “ she has to live with it, now. And you aren’t doing anything to make it easier for her.”

This is patently false; Asahi knows he’s done a great deal to try to keep the peace with her, but he doesn’t want to explain that to the family patriarch when it will only come off as an excuse. Instead, he says, “What would the easiest thing for her be? Should I not have come? Should I move away from Miyagi so she doesn’t have to be reminded of something that isn’t her fault?”

His grandfather takes Asahi’s body language for submission. Of course he does. And he waves almost passively at Asahi as he says, “You are what you are, and that’s as may be. Mayumi told me years ago that she worried you were…” He can’t even say the word. He clears his throat instead. “So it wouldn’t matter where you go; she can’t change her blood. But this was a choice you didn’t have to make.”

Now Asahi’s eyes snap upward, glaring. “What choice, ojii-san?”

“Your choice of partner, obviously.”

“I don’t think this is about him,” Asahi says. He feels his tone, though still constrained into polite phraseology, slip into a decibel he doesn’t want to reach, with so many other people in the house. He tries to bring it down, and hopes he manages it. “I think this is about the fact that he’s just proof of the fact that your grandson, your only living blood relative, is gay. And you’d hate whoever it was I chose.”

A volley of sniping, nasty words follows that comment. Some of it is self-defense on Asahi’s part; he thinks he swears, threatens to move someplace neither his grandfather nor his mother have to see him again. His grandfather all but calls him a selfish child. Asahi tries to let it roll off him—both exactly what he says himself and how his grandfather answers it, with sarcasm and dismissal. He knows from experience he can’t sort through the words as they’re spoken; he’ll only remember what he said in a few hours, after the breathless anger leaves him. And then, he knows, he’ll play each phrase in his head, over and over again.

But then the conversation returns to Noya, and Asahi doesn’t want to let autopilot govern that defense. He reaches with everything he has for something truly coherent.

“How is he any different from Kenta, or Makoto, or Takuya? They’re all young and loud and obnoxious, as well!”

“In that respect he _is_ no different than they, and that is a problem-”

“Then it’s a matter of degree—and he’s not nearly as bad with me as Makoto is with and his girlfriend.”

“-more than that, Asahi, Makoto is not _my_ grandson!” His grandfather, at last, abandons standoffishness and matches him for rage. He even sets down his glass. But he doesn’t yell. “I love your cousins, and I’ll see them provided for, but you? You are taking all you’ve been provided with and you’re tossing it to the wind.”

“But how?” His curiosity, and the contained nature of his grandfather’s anger, helps him bring his own tone down from shouting to seething. “I don’t understand your objection.”

“You do,” the old man says, coldly. “You understand that when he acts like a normal young man, people expect him to be one.”

“So he’s not normal,” Asahi chokes, grinding his teeth.

“No, and neither are you. And to pretend otherwise is foolish.”

Finally, Asahi’s vision goes red. His mind reaches beyond self-defense, to the sharp edges of protectiveness, crystal-clear. “Neither of us are not pretending a thing.”

“No, indeed.” The old man scoffs. “At least with another man as quiet as yourself, you could retreat into safety. Neither of you should engage with the comments that you’re sure to get from other people—have already gotten. But apparently, neither of you can back down. Both of you have just got to say something.”

If his vision was red before, Asahi thinks it might go white, now. “Did you…did you _tell_ Takuya to say something to rile us up? Did you start him in on Nishinoya?”

His grandfather continues as if he hasn’t spoken. “But as it is. You can’t save your mother the worry that no matter what she provides you wish, she’ll still end up calling me late at night after watching the news, worried that you’ll be the next irresponsible youth with his blood on the pavement.”

Asahi’s hand goes to his mouth, covers it—mostly due to how angry he is that his grandfather was probably the one to start the fight earlier that day, and only a little out of nausea over the unexpected, graphic nature of the comment.

“My mother.” He doesn’t know where else to start, so he starts there. He has to say it through his fingers, unable to remove his hand from his face. It’s the one cold thing from his world of heat and anger. “She doesn’t think that. She doesn’t think something as… ordinary? As this will get me…”

“Killed?” Even though Asahi shakes his head at that blatant word, he knows his grandfather’s answer before the old man speaks again. “She does.”

“Then,” Asahi stands up, unsteady. He doesn’t want to; he wants to finish the conversation, wants to make his grandfather understand. But he thinks it might be too late; he thinks me might have blown his chance for that, in not grasping ahead of time exactly what kind of test his mother had been putting them through by asking him to invite Noya here. “Then I wish she had had the courage to tell me herself, instead of forcing you to tell me on her behalf.”

“Asahi-”

His grandfather tries to scramble up off the tatami mat, his stocking feet and veiny hands suddenly looking to Asahi exactly as fragile as they are.

He wants to walk away without saying anything else. It takes everything he has not to.

Asahi holds out his hands, palms up. It feels like begging when he says, “Don’t- please don’t get up.”  
He manages to propel himself forward into a bow that is perhaps a degree too deep. “I’m sorry that I’ve disappointed you. I’m sorry that you have to worry about your daughter. But I am not sorry that you met the person who makes me happy, even if you don’t understand how that can be. Goodnight.”

Blood beating in his ears so loud that he doesn’t even hear what he’s doing, he takes several long strides into the other large room, slides open the _shoji_ that leads to the back porch. He has just enough mind left to slide it shut behind him.

He finds that he can’t move, after that. The sharp relief that normally follows confrontations in which he stands up for himself—the sense, after precarious flight, of landing with both feet on the ground—does not come. He only realizes that he’d counted on that sense now that he grasps for deliverance from his pounding heartbeat and finds nothing. No rest, no letdown. Such confrontations are rare, but not nonexistent—especially since his revelation as a high school second-year about his own self-worth.  
Which, for all his bravado just now, he can’t seem to locate.

When he finally blinks hard and cuts off his aimless staring, he looks into the pitch-dark of the garden, tries to visually pick out the rickety old staircase.

“Asahi.”

He starts, grabs his chest with one hand and one of the square wooden pillars on the porch with the other. It digs into his palm painfully as it slows his momentum, which he’s only just regained. He turns to his left to see that Kaori-oba is sitting several pillars down, leaning her weight on hands planted behind her on the wooden planks. Her hair, usually styled up off her neck in a practical mom-do, is unbound; if she’d been anyone else, her long black hair and the yukata she wears would make him jump. As it is, it’s all a little too _The Ghost of Yotsuya_ —especially on an adrenaline high.

It also occurs to him that if she’d been someone else—anyone else no matter how friendly sitting on this porch listening to what he had said to his mother’s father, he would have been humiliated. As it is, he can’t imagine Kaori-oba judging him. But his face still goes warm, and he’s glad that the moon—it’ll be full tonight—is barely-rising over the waterline.

She doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Her soft smile says much of what he somehow feels she’s going to say before she even opens her mouth.

“I don’t have to tell you to be careful. But I do have to tell you… that you’re braver than me.”

This, Asahi hadn’t expected.

Still, he can’t speak; the angry lump in his throat hasn’t dissipated, and even if it had, he’s not sure what she wants from him, now. Gratitude? Or just understanding?

Kaori-oba sighs and shifts forward—Asahi always feels like he should help her when she moves around like that, but doesn’t dare ask now. He doesn’t dare move, in fact; he’s listening to the shift of fabric against sound of shifting waves, all the while his focus is on any sound that might follow him through the _shoji_ : footsteps, some sign that his grandfather has either retreated or is only warming up to the war.

His aunt isn’t looking at him as she starts speaking again. “I wasn’t married to Shin-chan until about halfway through the time I was pregnant with Hiroki, you know.”

This seeming nonsequiter tears Asahi’s attention away from the house behind him. He does a double-take.

“No?”

She shakes her head. “My grandfather—a total patriarch, like yours—he lived in Hokkaido, so he didn’t know. About any of it, the baby or that I was still seeing my college boyfriend, who he’d never approved of. And then I waited too long. He died, before we even sent out the wedding invitations. I would have been terrified if I’d ever had to tell him.” She smiles into the rising moon, self-conscious but still bright, somehow. “I do regret it, I think. But in a lot of ways I’m also glad I never had to disappoint him. Selfish.”

Asahi swallows; he’s still gripping the wood of the pillar, using it as a crutch. He lets go, shakes his hand out. Makes himself say, “I don’t think that’s selfish.”

She laughs softly. “That’s kindness talking. And youth.”

He shakes his head. “Honestly, it’s probably what I should’ve done now. Stayed quiet.”

“No, nephew.” Her smile widens as she finally looks at him. “I should’ve fought for Shin-chan, and for myself. You? You did exactly as you should have done. And don’t you dare apologize to anyone for it.”

He almost doesn’t know how to answer this command. He’s not at all surprised that she’s shared her story; she has always been the peacekeeper at every family gathering, whatever it cost her. But that she should, in essence, take his side?

So he decides on simplicity. Very quietly, he says, “Thank you.”

She gives another smile, this one tighter, and looks back toward the ocean. “Seriously, be careful. Tonight I mean—don’t go down the steps there; you’ll fall and break your neck. Take the long way around.”

“Yes, Kaori-oba.”

He bows to her slightly—not knowing why, he doesn’t need to be formal with her, of all his family—and steps off the porch. He thinks maybe it’s maybe the effect of the grounding conversation that prevents him from sprinting down to the shore like he’d wanted to, discarding his clothes as he goes. Now, he walks, his pace more contemplative. He actually sees the garden, the trees, the highway that’s deserted at this hour of the night, and then the place where the low cliffs give way to the beach. He picks his way down, carefully. He removes everything but his boxers, and folds each item of clothing into a neat pile he shelters under a rock.

He crosses the narrow beach. And for the second time that night, jumps in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter made me a little sick to write, so if it makes you a little sick to read, I’m… sorry but not as sorry as I am for doing this to poor Asahi, who doesn’t deserve it. 
> 
> Also if you caught the Friends reference in this chapter, I owe you a cookie.


	10. In Which Asahi Has a Late Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, please see the lovely [art](http://mademoisellemaple.deviantart.com/art/Asanoya-631100664) by mademoisellemaple from this chapter! 
> 
> Secondly—and you might guess from the art—there is some smut in this chapter. If you want to skip it:
> 
> Stop at: Asahi welcomes the skin-to-skin contact  
> And skip the rest of the chapter.

Asahi wades in more than jumps, really. The current gives him something to struggle against, just powerful enough. Just enough, as it rises past his hips, his chest, just enough and no more; and that disappoints. How stupid it was, to hope for a powerful tide when he needs it most. How stupid this whole thing is, really—stupid enough that the rest of it falls over him in a wave: that it’s the middle of the night and there are no lifeguards and he kind of hopes his aunt is still watching from the porch those hundred, two hundred meters up the cliffs behind him.

But all these are thoughts, and he didn’t come here to think.

Asahi takes a deep breath through his nose. He notes the taste of salt in the back of his throat. He takes the time to feel his chest expand outward, each rib creaking as his lungs fill. He shakes his head, splashes hands floating at shoulder-level through the water, roiling it around himself before moving forward.

It’s cool enough to take his breath for a moment, once his head goes under a wave and he resurfaces with wet hair. Not cold enough to stop him from sliding under the next low furl of water, though, or from shooting out the other side of it with strokes powerful enough to remind him that there is strength in him, and plenty of it. That just a few months ago he had indeed helped lead his team to nationals. He hasn’t played much since then, though he’d intended to; being an “adult” leaves him with less time. With too many responsibilities.

Too many thoughts.

He forces the long muscles in his back to remember what it’s like not to need words to make a statement. And faithfully, they take him over the next wave, though the one after that, deep under the one after that. As he surfaces, the world is all crashing chaos, black and blue. Then, white foam, white moonlight. Turning over onto his back, he tries to recall how a backstroke is suppose to work—before choosing to abandon form, caring only for the movement.

When his pulse is up and he’s thirsty from the ocean’s salty crush, he stops. Treads water, and wonders at how far he got. He tosses his head, flicking long, wet hair back from his eyes. Many meters away, the beach is a gray crescent, the house a flickering assortment of lights beyond the garden trees. Deceptive peace, is what this space is: where the wildness between waves offers infinitesimal space for clarity.

He shakes his head again. Not enough. He’s still shaping every sight into a metaphor, and all he wants is to move until he’s too exhausted for symbolism.

But he does have the sense to start swimming south, along the coast, instead of further east into the moonrise.  
  
***  
  
“You went swimming? Aw, you shoulda told me…”

Asahi feels his mouth tilt with a total lack of surprise at this, the first thing Noya says when Asahi wakes him. And, he doesn’t mind admitting to himself, at the rare joy of hearing his voice rough with sleep, scratchy from disuse.

“Hm,” Noya continues, stretching against the sheets like he’s contemplating curling back up, returning to sleep. But after a moment, voice definitively alert, he says, “Since it’s dark, we could have done other things in the water, too.”

“Noya!”

Asahi’s whisper isn’t quite harsh—manages to reign in the panic that almost bubbles into it at the thought of being overheard. Still, Noya is quick to say, as he sits up, “Sorry. Keep forgetting we’re sharing a room, haven’t done that since Ran moved out.”

Asahi has always envied that ability of Noya’s, to go from 0 to 160 kilometers per hour, from silence to _vivace_ , in the time it takes him to rise from bed.

“Wanna go down to the other end of the house?”

And no less does Asahi envy Noya’s ability to look at someone he cares for and know exactly what needs to be said.

He asks, “You think that’d be okay?”

Noya shrugs. His voices is not without minor notes of humor when he replies—a subtly that surprises even after all these months knowing him as Asahi does. “I don’t think anyone’s dragged their futon there after the first night.”

Asahi feels his brows press together. “Why were people sleeping out there?”

“So you really _were_ asleep for that?” Noya manages to bite his laughter off. “God it takes you forever to fall asleep but when you finally do you sleep like a mummy… Haruki-chan barely stopped cryin’ that entire first night.”

“Oh. S-sorry about that…”

“What are you sorry for?”

It’s Asahi’s turn to shrug.

“Anyway. Do you want to go?” Noya grins like he’s looking forward to the prospect of the two of them being alone. It fades a little in the face of Asahi’s continued silence. But it doesn’t fade into concern. Merely into thoughtful receptiveness.

Moonlight arranges itself in perfect intervals over the sharp planes of Noya’s face. Asahi wants, suddenly—very badly—to impress the sight on his memory. The obvious perfection of feature, sure: the dark hollow created by full lower lip, hair curling soft and sweet against his neck, the eyes hyper-aware, almost silver in the night’s glow. But more than that, he wants to remember the quietly rough voice of the boy he loves, how it rises over the other sleepy sounds of the world, the breathing inside, the swell of surf outside.

He wants to remember this. Someone speaking to him gently, with true compassion. Not with a politeness glazing overwhelming judgement.

“Asahi?”

Noya tilts his head, reaches out delicately and sets his hand over Asahi’s clammy ones where they lie folded in his lap. Asahi realizes how long it’s been since he said anything, and how long the pressure has been burning at the back of his eyes.  

“I…” He clears his throat at that first unsure note. Under his breath, he answers, “I think I need that. Yes, please, let’s go.”

Noya doesn’t even look like he noticed the hesitation as he stands up, tugging Asahi by both forearms. Asahi goes slowly. It might seem like reluctance, he thinks; but then, still crouched, he removes one of his arms and grabs a blanket from behind Noya’s feet. When he rises fully, wrapping the still-warm bedding around his hands, Noya’s smile is stark white in the surrounding blue. He shoots downward to grab a pillow and stands again just as quickly, setting it on top of the pile of bedding in Asahi’s arms.

“Just don’t get it all wet, okay?” he says, still quiet as he turns Asahi bodily around and marching them toward the door, giving the sleeping Azumane cousins a wide berth. “Your hair’s damp.”

Asahi pulls a hand free from the blanket crunched between them and scrubs it over Noya’s scalp. “So is yours.”

Reflexively, Noya brings both hands to his head to knock the would-be style-wrecker away. “Yeah with fresh water. Not all of us are secret midnight mermen.”

Asahi feels his breath rush from his lungs in a half-laugh. He keeps it quiet even as they step out the door and into the empty corridor.

He can’t tell Noya how grateful he is when the younger conducts them to the perfect spot, far away from the bedrooms, where they won’t be overheard and where they’ll have plenty of notice if someone else does wake up. And then, how grateful he is when Noya just sits with him after they settle the blanket over the tatami floor. Sits with him in the dark and breathes with him. Asahi breathes and thinks of the way his muscles had worked against the tide not many minutes before, powerful enough to propel him where he wanted to go. This helps him think his shoulders down from around his ears. Helps him look Noya in the eye when he’s all but ready to talk about it.  
  
***  
  
Once, when they first started dating, he experienced one of those moments of Noya bringing him down from the edge of panic. Afterward, he thoughtlessly said, “You really do get it, don’t you? More than you let on.”  
Noya made a bit of a face and replied, “I might not understand math or theory all that well, but people are easy enough. And you’re kinda transparent, Asahi.”

One of Asahi’s over-reactive expressions must have given him away, yet again, because Noya continued,

“Transparent. Means I can see right through you.” He sounded like he was about done with the conversation, upper lip curling a little. “See test scores aside, vocabulary, I am actually pretty good at.”

“Even if most of the time you talk like a delinquent?”

Noya’s mouth dropped open in offense that was only real until Asahi smiled—and then Noya barked out a laugh.

Asahi laughed too. He tried to stop but noise nonetheless escaped above the fist he pressed to his own mouth.

“Sorry. Whatever face I was making I didn’t mean it like that. Just that, I don’t think of myself as transparent. Maybe I’m…” He scratched at his neck, self-consciously. “Too complicated?”

“A little. Maybe.” Noya shrugged. “Who cares? I don’t. So just be yourself!”  
  
***  
  
Now, after almost a year, Noya’s patience still isn’t perfect. He may not have learned, yet, how not to shake the bottle before cracking the lid. Literally and otherwise. But it’s clear to Asahi that Noya’s instincts with regard to their interactions have gone from good to near eerie. And he’s thankful for the knees that knock right into his and the hands that fall over his thighs as they face each other, criss-cross on the floor.

“You look really cool like this, by the way.”

Asahi splutters. “Wh- But- Like a drowned cat probably-”

When Noya chuckles, his eyes all but vanish, black crescents. “You come in all tousled hair and smelling like the sea and all that. Which is a little alarming if not also a lot attractive. Like you’re a pirate or something. Oooh, yes, and then we’ll run from this provincial life and whatever you came here for, I am so game…”

Asahi pouts a little. “Mermen and pirates- this is some interesting mixed metaphor.”

Now Noya pouts, his story unraveled. “How is it a _mixed_ metaphor if it’s all…” He flails his arms, then decides on, “All thematically related?”

“…You know, if you wrote like that in composition, you’d be getting more than just a passing grade.”

“Shut up. Anyway the entire points of the metaphor is supposed to be a compliment—you know I love your hair!”

“As much as you love whimsical nautical metaphors, I see.”

“Whatever, Mr. Mysterious in the middle of the night. You can’t act like you don’t know the effect you have when you do stuff like this. No ace is that un-self-aware.”

Asahi juts his jaw out and looks away—feeling a little caught out—but mumbles something about “stuff like this” not exactly been something he does on a regular basis. Still, he doesn’t complain that vigorously; he may not have the best control over his facial expressions but he _isn’t_ that un-self-aware about the way he looks in general.

“So are you ready to tell me what happened?”

He’s not sure, this time, whether he hears that subtle, wry humor in this statement. And given that he’s not looking Noya in the eye, he doesn’t want to risk offending him by brushing it off as a joke. So Asahi takes a deep breath and turns back to him.

“I had a fight with Ojii-san.”

Noya’s reaction is quick. “I’m not surprised.” His hands retreat a little from Asahi, like he’s readying himself to hop up and finish the fight himself. “You can be upset about it but you don’t need to be—that guy is an asshole.”

On instinct, Asahi dips forward to make himself smaller. Knowing no one will overhear but still nervous. But he’s curious, and comments, “I didn’t know you felt _that_ strongly about it.”

“Eh. Based on what you’ve said, and what I’ve gathered from how he’s using Takuya like a puppet, your grandpa’s like one of the old yakuza bosses that keeps everyone dancin’ for him just by being crotchety and disapproving. Your mom especially. Dude, is she ever scared of losin’ his approval…”

Asahi’s heart catches at the remembered yelling. He clicks his tongue with disapproval and sits up straighter, to hide how he wants to completely curl in on himself again. “With that visual, it would be almost funny if it weren’t so goddamn sad.”

Noya’s eyebrows shoot up a little at the swearing. “So that’s what you were fighting about? Something about your mom?”

“Yes and no.” Asahi lowers his gaze and sighs through his nose. “I was trying to tell him how nothing I do has anything to do with her. He shouldn’t blame her for what I became.”

“What you became?”

“You know. G-gay. And not very successful…”

“That’s bullshit.” Noya says, and almost makes as if to get up. “Plus, he shouldn’t blame her, so, what, he should blame you instead?”

It’s sharp; but as soon as he’s done talking and Asahi tugs on his hands, in silence, Noya settles himself back down against the floor. Asahi knows he’s trying, so he doesn’t comment. Sometimes Noya is like a half-trained guard dog, ready to snap at everything but also easily pacified. Asahi thinks, at least he’s _his_ half-trained wanna-be mongrel; it would be hard to have that kind of ferocity directed at him more than once in his life.

“No,” Asahi says, slow. “You’ll be glad to hear that I didn’t ask for the blame on this one.”

Noya pulls his arms free and crosses them, turns his head away—just a little. “Good.”

“But.” Asahi looks down. He pinches a corner of the blanket between his fingers and rubs the fabric together, feeling it all thready and warm. “I basically said… if it’s easier for them, for the whole family dynamic, I can just. Disappear.”

“Nothing is ever easier when you disappear, Asahi.”

Asahi hears the double-meaning; this is not a new conversation. But when he looks up, Noya looks for the second time that night like he regrets his words a little, for all that he’s still looking away with features are set in defiance. The silence goes on. Purposeful, the tension-filled rest in the middle of an orchestra pit. After a moment, as if Asahi had challenged him outright, he raises his chin and meets Asahi’s eyes. Unable to contradict him, Asahi scrabbles his fingers through his hair a little.

He wishes he had a hair-tie. He always has an extra but his wrists are bare; must have come off in the riptide.

“I know,” he says. “I know it isn’t easier to run away. So then Ojii-san basically said what you said. And… I went and stuck my foot in it.”

Now Noya’s tone loses some of the bark. “What did you say?”

Groaning, Asahi presses the heels of his palms to his eyes. “I told him the fact that he has a gay grandson isn’t going to change even if tomorrow I take off and live in Tokyo with all the other self-indulgent queers. Or something like that.”

Noya chokes on a laugh, sounding both impressed and a little worried. “You really said that to him?”

“Unfortunately.” Asahi tilts his head back, pressing against his face harder before removing his hands. His gaze rises up into the empty shadows between the beams in the ceiling. Noya pats one of his knees a little awkwardly.

“Well. Don’t think of it as unfortunate. Think of it as—you’ve got bigger stones than most men.”

“Heh.” Asahi sits with that for a minute, taking it as the praise it’s meant to be and not the joke it sounds like. “But I don’t feel like I won the argument. I never do. But I guess it’s especially hard with people you don’t see all the time? Maybe, I started it with him because… because you’re here. And that made it so I couldn’t hide, anymore. It’s never been good but this was especially bad, and I couldn’t just excuse the things he said this time. I felt like I needed closure or- or else I’m always going to feel like I’m hiding something, when I see him. But I still didn’t say everything I should have said.”

Noya shrugs one shoulder. “Then that makes you like the rest of us.”

“Not like you. You tell people exactly what you think. You’re fearless, that way.”

“Nah.”

This brush-off sounds like an attempt to bait praise. So Asahi presses. “More than anyone I’ve ever met, you’re-”

“I’m _not_ , though. Fearless. Nobody is—god, Asahi! I mean-” Noya’s expression shifts. Muddles, and Asahi doesn’t know these lines, these shadows. But they don’t look good; and Asahi can’t begin to guess what he needs to do to get rid of them. “I mean, for example, what the hell was I doin’ with the Takuya thing? Anyone else, I would have flattened him out when he made that first comment on the beach on Thursday. And it would have been over like that. But no, I just… didn’t say anything until it got too fuckin’ obvious to pretend I couldn’t hear him.”

Asahi points out, “You were cutting him some slack because of me. I’m guessing. Because you’re trying to get along with my family…”

As soon as he says it, he feels a little selfish, because it’s probably true. Noya, though, shakes his head minutely and presses his lips together. “It was because I was afraid.”

Asahi looks at him, searching. For a moment, he sees a stranger. A wide-eyed stray with a faraway look, whose hands have retreated back to himself.

“Yuu?”

It takes Noya a long time to answer. The shorter boy swallows, hard, and Asahi sees. He realizes—with a start that is half-panic—that past the worry about Asahi and his family, is something else. Something he feels like he should have seen before now.

There _is_ fear, there. But Asahi can’t begin to guess why.

“You know, I’m super proud of you for saying something to your grandpa. That okay for me to say?”

Asahi nods his head, unable to say anything.

Noya gives a little grin—without teeth, and it’s gone as soon as it comes. “Compared to that, I’m not proud of how I’m the one that’s hiding, here. The stakes are nothin’ for me, here. But they’re everything for you, and you’re…”  The sentence is a little clipped, a little dry; Noya tries again. “You’re trying. I mean, you brought me here, that’s risky, that’s-”

Noya is not exactly big on emotional nuance. His face is as expressive as Asahi’s own—if not more inappropriately so. He all but performs every reaction. And his features are so defined, his skin pale enough that every flush is obvious; it happens surprisingly often. Not as often as someone like Hinata, of course, but often enough, whenever someone has gone too far with a compliment for Noya’s tastes, or when he and Tanaka are screwing around and he’s gone starry-eyed over Shimizu. Even the closest he’s seen Noya to tears, last year, when they were hollering at one another in the school hallway for all the world to see, was a vivid, angry sadness. That high school hallway sadness, or lost-match sadness, Asahi recalls as scrunched features and flared nostrils.

But now, when there’s no performance, Noya’s expression is almost terrifying in its subtlety.

There are two cues, only. Noya’s eyes go serious and wide—like he’s trying to physically force the tears back. And soft pink bleeds to the tips of his nose and ears, so slowly Asahi wonders if he’s really seeing it. Asahi blinks, gauging whether the darkening is a trick of the light.

He watches Noya fight the excess emotion back the way he fights every other battle: all-out, unthinking as to the cost to himself. Desperate to help, Asahi does the only thing he can think of. He finds a new bruise, one Noya earned during one of their beach volleyball debacles. Slides his thumb over it, and presses down.

He’s met with a sharp inhale. And then frustration, and pleasure, on the exhale.

“Cheap shot,” Noya grumbles, averting the precipice. He pulls his bruised arm away and shakes out his wrist. But he doesn’t scoot back, which would be Asahi’s warning that he’d really pushed the wrong button.

(It was a cheap shot—Asahi knows. He knows exactly how much pride Noya takes in every battle scar, and how sensitive they are for at least a week afterward.)

“What did I say that upset you?” Asahi asks, as he grabs both of Noya’s hands. This time it’s without thinking, or further plan. Nothing but the need to reassure him, as to he knows not what.

Noya shakes his head.

“Not you. I’m pissed at the world for making people like you think that you’re not doing enough. Especially after you’ve been trying so goddamn hard.”

Asahi prods, “And?”

Noya nods. He’s not without reluctance, but his defenses are all down. He sighs through his nose as he visibly struggles to continue. The flush fades back to moonlit porcelain and Asahi again questions whether he actually saw that break in his tiny companion, or if he just really wanted to see it. If he was that desperate for the satisfaction of being able to break down along with the strongest of creatures.

And that, Asahi is afraid of: his own hunger for someone else’s weakness, and his boyfriend’s vulnerability. Mixed fear and shame makes him listen very closely when Noya speaks again.

“I guess there’s more. I worry, you know, about. What kind of defensive bullshit I’m gonna say when people in my family turn out to be. Uh. Like your grandpa. Or that I’ll be so beyond pissed at that point, I’ll just nope my way out of every relationship with anyone who doesn’t understand.”

“It’s a legitimate fear.” Gentle, Asahi squeezes the ends of Noya’s fingers, one by one. “Still haven’t told your mom about everything?”

“It’s on my list,” Noya huffs.

“Your list consists of volleyball practice and buying soda ice.”

The teeth come out, again—like this is the second cheap shot and Noya is counting them. “My list gets a little longer when I have to worry about my glass-hearted boyfriend drownin’ himself in the middle of the night.”

Asahi feels himself give a knowing smile. “Aw. You’re worried about me?”

“Don’t be an ass, you know I worry about you! And your. Reactions to things? You take everything so goddamn hard, Asahi…” Before Asahi can either shower him with apologies or leap to his own defense, Noya’s hackles settle a little and he says, “Like, geeze I know you wouldn’t. Drown yourself or move to Tokyo but. Please don’t anything drastic because you think you’ve run out of options.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” Asahi says.

“Anyway.” Noya has run out of steam. He grabs Asahi’s hands in return, asserting his own dominance by running his thumbs over each of Asahi’s knuckles. “Sometimes I wonder if somethin’ I say is going to send you to a place like that. Like you were after karaoke. Or tonight- Ugh, and I don’t always know what’s going to do it, and I really don’t wanna be the one who does that to you again.”

Asahi can’t help the inward flinch at the laden word—“again”—but he leans forward with intent and places both his hands over Noya’s knees.

But Noya doesn’t give Asahi a chance to reassure him.

“Like right now, dammit, you were the one that was upset and I got all wrapped up in my stuff!”

Asahi squeezes, feeling how clammy Noya’s skin has gone under his hands. “This is supposed to be a mutual thing, it’s fine. More than fine,” he says, “And my reactions aren’t something you should have to worry about. I don’t want you to have to walk on eggshells.”

Noya looks unconvinced. His face remains serious—match-serious, even.

“Well, that’s exactly the kind of thing I should be worrying about when I. You know.” The seriousness retreats to his eyes only, as he bites the inside of his cheek. If not for the washed out moonlight, Asahi would swear he knows exactly the shade of crimson Noya has gone. “I love you. And all that.”

They’ve said it before. But Noya still averts his gaze, and then leans back a little as he scrubs a hand backward through his freshly washed hair. He breathes harshly through his nose, but still manages to come off as pleased.  
Asahi smiles—and tries to bring every bit of it into his voice, because Noya won’t look at him. “I love you, too. And that’s exactly why I can’t put all this on you.”

Asahi gesticulates vaguely with one hand. Noya must catch this in his peripheral vision.

“I feel like you’re talkin’ about your brain when you say ‘all this.’ You know I like your ridiculous brain, so stop that.”

“You might be the only one,” Asahi taunts, knowing exactly what he’s doing.

Noya looks directly at him, irritation flashing in eyes gone from gold to silver. Fewer shades, but just as stark, in the evening light. He once told Asahi how strange a name he thinks his is—“Yuu,” for the evening—but Asahi thinks it fits him just fine. Evening has its own fire, unpredictable and utterly unique.

“Stop making fun of both of us and kiss me.”

Asahi does.

Noya has a knack for saying things that nobody should, by rights, be able to say out loud. Like how Asahi’s hands on the small of his back are making him crazy, how the shift of cotton t-shirt over his nipples is gonna end him. The words are crude enough, descriptive enough to send Asahi’s blood pumping exactly where it needs to be.

But if Asahi could respond, he’d meet him word for word; he’d speak his relief in every touch, the exquisite feeling of his own skin naked against the night air, his fingers against Noya’s chest. How it all seems so much more decadent by the sea.  

Asahi would tell him, as he first helps Noya climb up, shirtless, onto him. As Asahi slides his fingers slowly through Noya’s damp hair to stop him going too fast, he’d tell him exactly what he thinks of his spitfire of a boyfriend. That he’s just so damn attractively delicate. Easy to maneuver but not at all easy to handle. That he’s prickly but exactly the way a dragonfruit is prickly—all intimidating and oddly colored, but sweet when he opens up, tart and sweet and Asahi wants to run his tongue over every inch-

“You better not be doing this with me right now because you’re still angry about your fight.”

Noya’s tone is alarmingly flat, and he’s giving Asahi his best I-don’t-want-to-upset-you-but-this-needs-to-be-said face. He looks like he wants to discuss it even less than Asahi does.

Asahi takes a deep breath, searches out Noya’s palm, and squeezes it. “I’m not angry.”

“You get impulsive when you’re angry. And you’re puttin’ up less of a fight than usual.”

“I do not _put up a_ -” Asahi notices the spark of laughter—and of tension, waiting to be broken—behind Noya’s serious eyes. He sighs. “Alright so I usually get nervous when someone is this clear about wanting me.”

This admission sets a hard blush over Noya’s features, who then sets a hand over the back of Asahi’s neck. “Even me?”

“Even you. Especially you. But, believe me. I’m not mad. Not even upset anymore.” He smiles, because it feels more natural, now, than stalling. He begs—because he knows he needs it. Thinks Noya needs it, too. “ _Please_ , Yuu.”

Noya’s solemnity is gone immediately. The crescents of his eyes shine in the moonlight. “So I helped, right?”

Asahi laughs, more breath than anything. “Yes. You always do.”

Asahi welcomes the skin-to-skin contact that follows. And follows. The cracked tension between them continues to break, shatters every last wall until Asahi senses a new kind of intimacy. One that threatens to take them past their grasping hands, which are usually satisfying enough. Noya nods, says, “Yes,” reading Asahi as easily as he does every physical interaction.

That and his own dizzying need makes it all the more simple for Asahi to make as if to spit into his own hand—or, maybe the sake he and his grandfather drank did affect him, at least a little, damn it. But Noya stops him, reaching into the blanket for a washcloth that conceals the sheen of plastic.

“Hey, where did you- Did you know this was going to happen??”

Noya shrugs, but he’s shaking, and not nearly as nonchalant as he’s pretending to be. “You came to get me in the middle of the night and we’ve been sharin’ a room with two other guys, what was I supposed to think?”

Movements get lost in the sweat and the dark, after that. However it happens, he ends up three fingers, knuckle deep, inside his boyfriend, who is panting harshly at his hairline.

“Asahi.”

It sounds urgent. Asahi looks up slightly, into Noya’s face. Ready to read him.

“Uh…” His hesitancy surprises Asahi, as does the glassy sheen over his eyes. “I really like what you’re doing now and I don’t want to stop, but. I. I really want to, you know, but not right now. I can’t believe I just said that- next time?”

Noya looks like he’s afraid, of all things, of disappointing Asahi. With haste, Asahi answers him, “Sure.” More smoothly, he corrects, “Yes, definitely. Whatever you want.”

“I want to keep going but there are people here and if we’re gonna get caught-”

“Oh.” Asahi stills completely.

Noya moves against him, whining a little. He grinds out, “ _If we’re gonna get caught_ , I’d rather we didn’t get caught fucking for the first time. Otherwise I don’t really care.”

This is the only time he’s ever heard Noya use that word as a verb instead of an adjective and it Does Things to his blood pressure. He can’t keep track of the rest of the sentence closely enough to know what he should say in response; he’s only half inside the world of words, anyway, tracking instead the demands of Noya’s movements, which continue.

Lacking the capacity for a more thoughtful assessment of the situation, again, Asahi just says, “Oh.”  
He just keeps his nose buried against Noya’s collarbone, feeling the burn of the muscles in his forearms, the hot, wet resistance against his fingertips.

After a moment of this, Noya asks, “So it’s okay? If we don’t do anything new tonight…”

“That’s more than okay.” Asahi is slightly flustered as he realizes what he’s still doing and what Noya has asked him to continue doing. So he falters as he asks, “Please, uh… Just tell me what you need.”

And that’s how he ends up pulling his fingers from the overwhelming need of the body above him. How he ends up laying Noya down on the thin blanket they’ve carried here and taking him into his mouth. How he accepts and even relishes the fact that the only sign Noya gives before he comes is to dig his heels, hard, into Asahi’s back. How Asahi breathes his understanding, and is ready for the telltale tremble in one leg; he grips the underside and presses it tightly upward, knowing the change in angle at this most sensitive of times drives Noya crazy. He takes in the grunt Noya gives, one that sounds like it wants to be a shout.

What feels like seconds later, Noya finishes Asahi off with clever hands and words too filthy to be borne.

They head to the little bathroom off the main living area to wash their hands, across old tatami and retrofitted wooden floor. Noya gives Asahi his typical post-coital taunting looks; but Asahi is too distracted by thoughts of the future to add much heat to the looks he gives in response.

And it’s pure torture, watching Noya slip into his bedding while Asahi goes to his own, alone, too far away to hold his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be careful about having sex when you’re emotionally rattled, kids. ~~Why did I write this I am setting a terrible example…~~
> 
> Honestly I think this is my favorite chapter in the fic. Comment and let me know if you agree!


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